


Not Far Enough

by GnaCat (orphan_account)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Blood and Gore, Bro and Dave are adults, Creepy stuff, Delusions, John is a dumb little kid, Kidnapping, Mental Instability, Multi, Renfield Syndrome, Road Trips, Torture, maybe slight supernatural elements, rating will go up with later chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-16
Updated: 2014-11-08
Packaged: 2018-01-25 05:46:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 37,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1634738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/GnaCat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave and Bro are somewhat responsible adults; DJ-ing in clubs all over Texas and traveling a lot. One night, they pick John up in the middle of nowhere. No socks, no shirt, no bag, and no telling what the fuck he was doing out there on his own. They decide to load him off at the next police station, even though they promise to let him jump out as soon as they reach Houston.</p><p>But as we all know: No good deed ever goes unpunished.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I walk alone.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CaliginousCandy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaliginousCandy/gifts).



> First off: Big hug to my lovely beta CaliginousCandy! Without you I wouldn't have kept writing! You're my hero! :D
> 
> And then I'd like to say that this will become gradually creepier and gradually more violent and I hope you'll enjoy it.

“Shit. Seriously? The fuck, Bro.“ Your name is Dave Strider and your only chance to survive is to crank down the window of the pick-up a bit. You give Bro a disbelieving look through your shades but he just shrugs it off.  
“What can I say lil’ man? A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.“  
“But not in the truck! Gross, dude.”  
“Oh, shut up Dave. Yers ain't smellin' like fuckin' roses either.”  
“You're missing the point. We had a deal. No farting in the truck.”  
“OK, what do ya want? That I stop at the curb every god damn time?”  
“I dunno man, just don't fart in the truck!”  
“Ya realize ya soundin' pretty prissy. Didn't think I raised a princess.”  
“I just hope you realize this means war.”  
“Haha, bring it on then. Though I should warn ya, there's more where that came from.”  
“Oh god, that's so gross. _We_ are gross. How did that happen?”  
“Dunno, guess when yer gettin' older the digestive system-”  
“No, I mean- we are touring through all of fucking Texas! I faintly remember us being cooler than- well, than this. Come on. We just had a sweet gig three hours ago. That was some wild shit going down there! And here we are now and you consider starting a fart-war.”  
“... Can't tell whether yer genuinely upset or if ya bein' a drama queen for ironies sake.”  
“I don't see what could possibly be ironic about that.”  
“Dave, I've given up on tryin' to understand yer ways years ago. Ya've strayed into the dark side of irony. Don't expect me to let any of that shit infest my flawless holy spirit, just to engage in everyday conversation with ya.”  
  
You can't help but snicker at that.  
  
It's night; it's gotten rather cold and the road is long and lonely. When you try hard enough you can see giant cacti pass by your window every now and then. Bro ain't driving all that fast. Maybe he's tired. You had a long week after all. And it was a rather good week, too. You had this pretty awesome gig, the motel you were staying at wasn't half bad and had a very good buffet. You banged a few rather cute chicks and you don't know what Bro had but it couldn't have been bad considering he was in a mood good enough to justify fart conversation. You have all the reason to feel as content as Winnie the Poo after a 'hunny' raid on Rabbit’s burrow.  
  
Okay, the truck smells a little like fart, but you'll just challenge Bro to a rooftop strife at the next gas station to lift your mood and avenge your poor olfactory nerves. Over the years you've been touring with Bro you learned that you could settle any dispute, as long as you had a katana, the will to fight, and a roof. Don't question the roofs. Roofs are kind of mandatory.  
  
“Bro, you'll be 43 next month, right?” He side eyes you, a little surprised by the question, and sighs. Even though you don't see it you can feel him rolling his eyes behind those hilarious, pointy anime shades.  
“Yeah, an ya turned 26 half a year ago. Whatcha playin' at?”  
“Nothing. Just wanna know if we can pick up Dirk for the day. Might grab some breakfast at Micky D’s. You know, for good old times’ sake. Shit's gonna be nostalgic as-”  
“He's better off stayin' with the Lalondes for now.” he interrupts you sternly.  
“Yeah. Right. How could I think our baby brother might want to see us every once in a while. Pretty dumb of me.”  
“It's not about wantin' or not wantin' to see and ya know it. Don't try guilt trippin' me into getting' Dirk into trouble.”  
“It's not said that he'd get in trouble.”  
“Shit will start hittin' the fan as soon as we get there. Even if he ain't getting in trouble, we will. I don't see why we still have to talk about that? We keep writin' the kid postcards from where ever we stop, and when he's 18 he can decide for himself whether or not he feels like meetin' up with us. Now try and get some shut eye will ya. In a few hours we'll switch and I ain't havin' you drive my baby when yer tired as fuck. Ain't havin' a particularly strong death wish tonight.”  
  
You click your tongue and growl in irritation. With a jerky motion you turn back and try get comfortable in your seat while you look through the front window. Yeah, you already expected that kind of reaction but it still sucks getting lectured at your age. You're not sure why you even ask anymore, you just do it.  
  
When Bro and you had to leave Dirk behind he was a preschooler. Loved his fucking anime shades just as much as you did when you were younger. He always cuddled up with Bro on the futon while watching TV. And whenever you mixed up some beats he'd climb in your lap. You two would spit sick rhymes until he was hoarse. Kid was a genius. Precious little fucker.  
You miss him. If you counted right Dirk should be 15 now. Time sure flies by.  
  
Out of the corner of your eye you see something bright green pass your window. Someone was walking there, in the middle of nowhere, and it wasn't exactly warm in the desert at night. It takes you a second to react.  
“Bro, stop. There was someone walking.”  
“Yeah. Saw it too. And?”  
“’And? Turn the fuck around? They might need help?”  
“Daaaave. If we let someone in where is lil Cal supposed to sit?”  
  
OK, you give him that. The driver’s cabin isn't all that big but you can make room. You deadpan him and unceremoniously grab the puppet and put it into the backpack between your legs while Bro lets out a little appalled shriek. You carefully elbow him, because yeah, you shouldn't elbow people hard when they drive, and with a grunt he stops and changes into reverse gear. Hey, don't judge. It's a lonely desert road in the middle of the night.  
  
“Ya know, if we pick up some kind of Hannibal Lecter here and end up cut into bite-sized cubes I'll entirely blame you.”  
“Yeah, sure. We are the freaks running around with fucking katanas twenty-four seven, and green parka there is the scary one.”  
“Never underestimate cannibals, Dave. Ever.”  
“Whatever you say.”  
  
The bright green comes back into view in the side-mirror. The closer you get, the more you can see through the combined darkness of your shades and the amount of light at 3 in the morning. It's not just bright green, it's the most eye-cancer inducing green ever. When the figure notices you're headed for it, it does a little happy jump, waving at you and running towards you. And that's when it hits you.  
  
“Fuck. Bro, that's a kid!” You jerk around in your seat to get a look through the back window. Out of the corner of your eye you can see Bro slightly gaping at the picture in the rearview mirror. Within seconds the kid reached the passenger door and knocks a few times against the half open window. Fuck, he is barely tall enough to look inside if he takes a few steps back. What's he doing out here?!  
  
“H-hey! Thank you for stopping!” He's out of breath but he smiles and there is great relief in his expression.  
“It's dangerous runnin' around here at night, kiddo.” you hear Bro over your shoulder and the boy giggles revealing almost comically wry buckteeth.  
“Yeah, no shit!” he rubs his red nose and tries to get a better look of the inside of your truck.  
“Uh, where are you headed?”  
“Houston,” you answer.  
“Well, would you mind picking up a hitchhiker?”  
“You jokin' kid? Can't leave ya out here, can we?”  
  
You raise an eyebrow at Bro. Of course it's normal to help a child in need but seeing as Bro initially didn't even want to stop, he was awfully quick to respond now.  
Mentally you make a note not to make your brother look like someone who'd let a kid starve at the side of the road. Not nice, Dave.  
  
“Hop in.” You open the door and help the kid climb into the truck and into the seat between you and Bro. He's thin and light, all skin and bones as far as you can tell, you wonder when the last time he ate was. You guess he might be 8 or something close to that. He is small; his hair is a thick, black, and greasy mess, and he's wearing a rectangular pair of glasses. In addition to his green parka, he's wearing gray shorts that don't even cover his knobby knees and light blue sneakers that appear to be a little too big for him. You don't think he is wearing any socks or even a T-shirt under the jacket. He doesn't even have a bag on him. Nothing.  
  
Naturally, the sight has you skeptic and a look to the side confirms Bro is, too. You both silently agree to stop at the next police station. Kid is likely to be reported missing somewhere. And even if not, it didn't feel right to just let him jump out at the roadside when you got to Houston.  
  
“What's your name?” You ask and the kid gives you a confused look out of big, vivid blue eyes, as if that was a very unreasonable question.  
“I'm John. John Egbert.”  
“Well, hi John. I'm Dave Strider, and this is Bro.” Bro gives him a little wave before he starts the motor again and John snorts.  
“PFFFT! What kind of dumb name is _Bro?_ That's not really your name, is it?”  
Bro shrugs and with the motor, the car heater jumps back on, prompting the boy to shove his frozen fingers in front of the slits to catch as much warmth as he can. John is probably the whitest kid you've ever seen. He's milky pale, very much so. The parts of him that were exposed to cold night air are now red, or at least rosy. You wonder how long the boy was out here. Bro starts driving again and you lean back into your seat. This really didn't look good.  
  
For the moment you decide to better not say anything and try not to stare at John while he fidgets a little in his seat. He seems to feel uncomfortable sitting between you guys, looking back and forth between you and Bro. You ponder whether it is a good idea to ask him what's wrong, but before you really can think about it, he opens his mouth.  
  
“Is it just me or does something smell funny in here?” He hasn't even fully finished his sentence when you snort and bend over to not laugh out loud. You don't catch the confused look John is shooting you.  
“What _is_ that?” he asks, baffled by your little outburst and you turn your head to face him, willing the amusement out of your face, even though a bit of sardonic laughter is still trapped in your voice.  
“You know, when some people are getting old,” you feel Bro’s head tip in your direction ever so slightly. “Their digestive system-”  
“Dave.” Bro groans. You lick your dry lips and swallow another bark of laughter. It's really not even that funny, but for some reason it gets to you, and the way Bro suddenly almost seems embarrassed for his earlier oh-so justified truck-farting is more satisfying than it should be.  
  
John stares at Bro for a moment. Of course he wouldn't get what this is about, you think, but only seconds later his whole face scrunches up and he wrinkles his nose.  
  
“Eeeeeew! For real? That is disgusting! You should do that outside!” John sounds so fucking offended that you can't help but turn away from them and shudder with the effort not to laugh your ass off.  
“Shut up, Dave.”  
“What? Man, I haven't even said anything yet!” You laugh, and you both know that all you want to say is “Told ya, Bro.” but you don't. These days you like to pretend you've grown up a little. You both know you haven't, but at least you try.  
  
You watch the kid pinch his nose dramatically and pout in Bro’s direction. Even though his face is pretty much expressionless his body-language tells you he's torn between laughing himself and shoving a katana in John’s tiny hands and look for a roof to settle this.  
“Yer pretty dramatic, kid.”  
“Do you even smell this?”  
“It's not that bad.”  
“Well, obviously you can’t smell it!”  
You can see the smirk fight its way onto Bro’s face and know that this ride probably just got a lot more fun. With a deep sigh you wipe a little moistness from the corner of your eye and lean back in your seat, the fact that you were told to sleep only 10 minutes ago already forgotten.  
  
  
Surprisingly, after John’s little fuss, he grows weirdly silent. To you, it seems to take ages before the kid becomes unable to bear it any longer and starts to ramble about whatever comes to his mind. You're a little grateful for it, because you didn't like the silence either.  
Unfortunately all that comes to his mind and all he talks about is movies. Sucky ones at that. Not even the sucky kind you can enjoy ironically. Just... sucky.  
  
You quickly reach the point where you can't take it anymore and talk about your own all time favorites and you start a heated-up debate. When you find out he never saw Back to the Future, you give him your best impression of it, complete with pantomime, lots of Strider side commentary, an Oscar worthy imitation of Marty McFly's mom, and a shush whenever he tries to interrupt you.  
Afterwards, you have to sit through his awful impression of Con Air. You don't tell him you think he is too young for that type of movie and just shred his arguments as best as you can. Surprisingly, he's not making it easy for you. Probably spends most of his time in front of the TV, little nerd.  
  
You don't notice how serious you get about it and how absurd your bickering is until you notice Bro is grinning like an idiot. Oh wow, big fucking deal, yeah. So what? Kid had some fighting spirit and knew how to argue conclusively. That doesn't stop you from ripping at his movies though. They sucked. The end.  
  
Only a little later the silence returns and John seems to take a special interest in the little ironic hula-dancer on your dashboard. You admit it's somewhat adorable how hypnotized he looks. For a moment you wonder what Dirk was like when he was that age and ask yourself what Bro might be thinking right now. You can see him steal glances at John from under his shades.  
  
This continues for a few minutes, and then the kid starts to ask you questions. The truck is warm and the atmosphere is rather nice. John is careful not to ask anything too personal and you and Bro take turns answering him. For some reason the kid seems to try to be awfully considerate and smart for his age, yet it really shows that he's actually just a nerdy little dick. ... You like the brat.  
  
“And where do you come from?”  
“Motherfucking Austin Texas. Coolest place in the whole country, hands down.”  
“Are you two actual brothers?”  
“Twins. Ain't that plain obvious?” Bro grins and John clicks his tongue and frowns.  
“No really! Are you?”  
“You can call me Sam and him Dean.” you smirk and John knits his brows.  
“... I don't think I get that reference.”  
He looks confused and pouty, but he still rolls his eyes up and you can see he thinks he might understand it if he just ponders hard enough. You feel a bit like an idiot. Of course he wouldn't know the series, he is like- what? 8? 10 at most. Cut the boy some slack, Dave. Make references to popular cartoons or something like that.  
“Yeah, we're brothers, kiddo.”  
“Oh. How old are you guys?”  
“Take a guess.”  
“Oh uhhh.” He chews his bottom lip and thoughtfully tips a finger against his chin. He decides rather quickly after that.  
“25 and 35?” You chuckle and pat John's shoulder while Bro squirms in his seat as if John had slipped an ice cube in the back of his shirt.  
“My my, I'm kinda flattered. Makin' my kokoro go all doki doki here, lil man! That's cheatin'!”  
“What? Sorry, I don't think I get that either... was my guess very off?”  
“Don't worry. He's just drifting off into Ugu-land.”  
“Wow, Dave. That suddenly explains everything.” he deadpans at you and you really want to ruffle his disgustingly greasy hair appreciatively. Fuck, you'd hug the little guy. You know, if you weren't so sure that just the thought could get you into jail or some shit. Even though it's an innocent sentiment.  
  
You smirk and he flashes you a big, toothy smile back, then turns to show that same smile to Bro. You can see it tugging at the corners of his mouth. Yeah. Bro always made a fuss about how annoying and exhausting children are and that even you were more than he was ready to handle back then, but you know he already likes John. At least you think that's what it is.  
  
“So uh... hm. About the sunglasses.”  
“Family tradition.”  
“That sounds like a pretty dumb tradition.”  
“Yet it is a tradition. Yer not havin' any traditions at yer place kid?”  
John freezes and it's apparent Bro stepped on a landmine there. You shoot him a penalizing glance. What is he trying to do? You kind of thought it was self explanatory to hold back any questions that may come up and not unsettle the boy. The plan is still to load him off at the next police station and let them take care of whatever the kid's story is, so you don't have to worry about it anymore. Why ask any questions and get yourself involved? Is that really something you want to know? But Bro doesn't stop prying.  
  
“Watcha been doin' in the dead of the night all alone on the road anyway?” Bro’s tone is a lot more scolding. It's still warm, but it rings with that deep distinctly fatherly sound that you would get sent to your room with when you were younger.  
It doesn't impress you anymore, but John presses himself back into the seat looking as if he'd hope it would swallow him whole. He nervously stares at his knees, hands fisting into the fabric of his shorts.  
  
“Ya got lucky today but ya shouldn't just jump into a stranger’s truck. Hitchhikin' at yer age is dangerous as fuck.”  
The boy worries his bottom lip with those big buckteeth to the point where it almost turns white, brows furrowing deeper and deeper. Before you can tell Bro off for putting it so harshly, considering John probably wasn't out on the road because he felt like it, the kid starts to talk though.  
  
“Traveling with a stranger is just as dangerous for the hitchhiker as for the driver. That has nothing to do with age.” His tone is low and quiet. It looks a little like he's scared and tries to be mature enough to not let it show.  
  
You smirk and see that Bro does too. You stretch a hand out and ruffle John’s hair. He just grunts and you try to get another good look at his eyes in the process.  
Thick black eyelashes, not particularly long, but framing the big round eyes nicely. The blue of his eyes really is something special though. Not as special as your reds or Bro’s orange ones, but in its own way spectacular. You can't put your finger on it but with the emotions that travel over the kid’s face, the color seems to change ever so slightly, brighter or darker, a little clouded in places before shining with even richer color.  
  
You ruffle his hair again and even though he doesn't seem to mind it too much, he still looks so warily at you, as if he had just revealed to you that he works for the fucking MIB.  
  
“You know what? Under normal circumstances you'd have a point here, but in your situation you're the only one taking a risk with this. Your argument is pretty much invalid in this case.”  
John crosses his arms in front of his chest, puffs out his cheeks and turns to look at Bro who doesn't react at all. Yeah, thanks Bro. He makes a mess and you can see how you deal with the kid. Awesome. You're so gonna kick his ass on the next roof available. You might not win, but you'll try and make a point.  
  
You sigh and try to get John’s attention back by carefully nudging him with your elbow.  
“Look, I know you're trying awfully hard here to look grown up and shit, and you're doing a damned good job, but part of being a grown up means accepting good advice and taking good care of yourself. This probably was an emergency and you had no choice, but try not to travel like that anymore. OK?”  
  
For a few seconds you can see his eyes wander over your shoulders, chest, arms, legs, and then back up to your face. John looks straight into your shades. You know the only thing he sees is his own reflection but you still feel his now rather cold gaze meet yours. He's giving you such a grievous look, it's downright confusing.  
  
“You alright, John?” He shakes his head and turns around to look at Bro.  
“If ya wanna talk 'bout it, how ya ended up out here, ya can. We ain't judgin'.” Bro lifts a big hand from the steering wheel and tousles the kids hair himself, dragging callused fingertips over his scalp, and you notice John closes his eyes and leans into it ever so slightly. Seems to feel nice.  
  
The difference in his reaction towards you and Bro is clear. He seems to feel a little mocked by it when you do it, but generally doesn't mind your hand in his hair. You tried to do something ironically adult like and calming. Bro’s gesture, on the other hand, seems almost affectionate; it's slow and drawn out and the boy instinctively relaxes into it.  
  
It's strange but you get the feeling you're not the only one who is influenced by thoughts about your baby brother.  
  
When Bro retreats his hand back toi the steering wheel John hunches over a little, swallowing audibly. You watch as he starts to knead his fingers in his lap. Squeezing and stroking every single digit, paying special attention to his knuckles, and rubbing his thumbs over his palms. He appears to be awfully lost in unpleasant memories. Most likely he doesn't know where to start.  
  
That's great. Shit, Bro might want to hear what little horror stories the kid has gone through, but thinking of what that could be- you cringe slightly and try not to gag. It's pretty easy to think of ways a nice little boy like John could have ended on the side of the road in the middle of the night. Sickly and starved looking. No bag, no socks, no shirt. Just shoes, shorts, and a parka. You know very well that not everything is unicorns and rainbows, but considering you might reach the next little city in about half an hour, why not have the boy tell all that shit to a professional? Is that really something John should be sharing with you two of all people? You doubt it.  
  
God, you really don't want to hear it. You liked it infinitely better when he ripped on your movies and you massacred his.  
  
You pick up the backpack from between your feet and pull out a candy bar that was stuck under Cal, who seems to shoot you a condemnatory look. His round blue glass eyes look even creepier to you when you compare them with John’s lively ones. Still, years of experience taught you to read emotion into this never changing puppet face and you just know Cal doesn't like it in the bag. You fist bump the little plush hand apologetically and close the bag again.  
  
“You hungry, John?” his ears perk up but he doesn't move. You bet he is.  
“No, thank you.”  
“C'mon it's not poisoned.” you wriggle the Snickers bar in front of his nose. He looks surprised but then he just shakes his head again.  
“It is. I'm allergic to peanuts. Like, deadly so.” when you notice the glare he is shooting the candy bar you quickly pull it back and unwrap it.  
“More for me then.” you simper and shove half of it into your mouth. John looks at you as if he wants to slap the ungodly treat right out of your hands.  
Your eyes meet and after a good 10 seconds you shrug and stretch your arm over the kid to wordlessly offer Bro the other half of it. He is about to take a bite when he catches John staring at him. And wow the boy knows how to use his puppy-dog eyes. Bro sighs and you shrug again, shoving the other half in your mouth. You busy yourself chewing while you look out into the night and it's silent again.  
  
John lets out a heavy sigh. He lifts his head, sits up straight, and stares at the road for a while. For some reason he looks very determined and you brace yourself for a story you don't want to hear.  
  
“I made my decision, please stop the car.” he utters calmly, eyes still trained on the road.  
  
Your eyes widen and even Bro turns his head, eyebrows raised over his shades, and neglects the road for a few seconds. You grab John’s shoulder to get a better look at his face again. The small pale face looks dead serious, blue eyes almost glowing in the scarce light of the driver’s cabin.  
  
“Look kid, I know I said hitchhikin' is dangerous but we won't do anythin' weird to ya, OK?”  
“You don't have to tell us anything, John. Don't worry. We'll get you to the next police station and-”  
“Stop the god damn car, Strider, or I swear on everything dear to you we'll have a horrid accident!”  
“What the fuck, keep it down yer not-”  
  
Before either of you can react John unbuckle and throws himself onto Bro. You barely see the tiny boy twisting your brother’s head into an awkward position, before he jerks the wheel violently and the truck skids off the road. Terrified, you try to pull John off of him but the truck crashes into something and you get knocked around in your seat. Your head bangs against the window of the passenger door, and everything slowly blurs into black.


	2. Not even close.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I told you bro, told you about 'em damn kids.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! I'll update more regularily in the future. I kind of had a bit of a diffuculty to figureout wjat exactly I wanted out for this chapter but rn I'm rather content it's gonna please. Me at least.
> 
> As always many telepathic huggies for CaliginousCandy my levely wonderful beta and super good friend! God, what would I do without you!
> 
> I'm looking forward to everyones reactions to chap 2 because really! I often decide what to do depending on the feedback. What you liked and didn't like and so on is actually important to me! °O° I'd be happy if you'd tell me such stuff!

You open your eyes and your first thought is: Dave! Fuck, you're increadibly giddy and you can't see a god damn thing! Everything is dark no matter how hard you blink. Your mouth feels dry and numb. Your muscles are stiff and sore and everything gets topped off by a roaring headache. You try to focus and remember the last things that happened before you blacked out. It's hard and you really have to fight to not pass out again. 

You were on your way home and... You had a crash. The pickup turned over and- Dave! No, focus! You HAVE to focus.

You try to stand up but your body feels so damn heavy and you need a minute to realize you are leaning with your back against something and your arms tied around it. There is some kind of cloth bag tugged over your head, too. When you want to swallow you feel your dry, itchy throat and a rag in your mouth that is covered with duct tape.

You shiver with realization. The Egbert kid. You remember how he slammed himself against your side and you got off the road. Everything went so fast, so unexpected, you had no time to think; the truck hit something and landed on its back within seconds! 

Before you knew it the little twerp had you in a well applied blood choke, compressing your carotid arteries and jugular veins. You saw Dave hanging in his seatbelt, limp, unconscious, and bleeding. For a short moment you had the mind to fight, grabbing a fist full of black hair and tugging at the arm around your neck, before the blood circulation to your brain got cut off. You were out like a candle immedietly.

It's kind of ironic how a paranoid nut like you didn't see it coming. You of all people should have guessed the kid was one brick shy of a load. See, that's why you don't like kids! You always think they are so easy to figure out but you can never be sure what's going on in their creepy, little heads!

You could kick yourself for feeling sorry for the brat; and yes you really did! He was in trouble, appeared to be scared and looked so fragile. The boy really tugged on something in you and you followed him obediently. You even kind of liked him. Before the kid crashed your fucking truck and kidnapped you that is! It's just- it was nice to see your little brother talk, be relaxed, smile, and be 100% himself with someone other than you. Both of you lowered your guard like a couple of amateurs. 

You cringe. How could you have been so ignorant? Why didn't you see the kid had horns holding up his halo? Why weren't you at least a little skeptical? Motherfucking kids with all their trustworthy complexion and demeanor. And now the chances are good you'll end up as minced meat. Slow clap for the Striders. Hurray. 

You suck in a sharp breath through your nose and frantically push yourself up, arms still tied around what feels like a wooden support beam. It doesn't budge no matter how hard you push yourself against it. Calm down. Analyze your situation. You don't feel wind or sunshine on your skin, so you're inside, and there is a distinct lack of noise, so it's probably a basement. Basements just seem like the classic room of choice for this type of scenario. It's always a fucking basement.

You groan through your nose and try to swallow again. A few minutes of muffled yells around your gag and you are still surrounded by silence. He is not here. Wherever you are, Dave is not here. You're starting to sweat, especially under the bag over your head and in your palms. You hunch over as far as you can. 

You are probably alone, and if you are honest you don't know whether you like it or not. For a short moment you give in to panic and your breathing quickens rapidly, only worsening your dizziness. Considering your lifestyle there is a good chance you are dead and in hell... Shaking your head you force deep slow breaths through your nose. You'll be fine. Dave is fine. You just need to get out of here and-

Carefully you test out your fetters. And, just as expected, they are tight since you were unconscious your muscles were lax when they were put on you. They go almost up to your elbows. No latitude. You can't wriggle out of that, you can't even flex the muscles in your lower arms without restricting the circulation to your hands. You were prepared to break a thumb to get out of some tight cuffs or ties, but this? Whoever did this, they knew what they were doing. And they wanted to make sure you wouldn't leave. You breathe a sigh; it's actually kind of overkill. This is important to someone.

In the back of your head you almost frantically chant a thread of please. Please, please, please- PLEASE! You never really believed in god, in higher entities, or anything, but please let Dave be alright. You gag on a choked sob and try not to think about the odds you are facing.

John Egbert. Sly, little puppy. Whoever trained the kid did one hell of a good job! The boy was quick and used what little power he had efficiently. His age and his looks worked for him and the kid put on an increadibly powerful act as well. Someone put a lot of effort into this.

You doubt the kid could have done this alone. 

Oh, god. But who would? You run through a list in your head and- Fuck, there are way too many names coming to your mind. A lot of assholes who'd like to make you suffer, but you doubt that they would be so subtle in their approach. So roundabout as to train a kid as bait and- You don't know which thought alarms you more, the one that someone planned to do this to you, Bro Strider, or that you are just a target of opportunity of some random lunatic.  
You try to take into account that it might be some really bad joke but you are too overwhelmed by the confirmation that you aren't just suffering of persecutory delusions. Shit like this actually happens. 

You knew it, you were prepared, and you blew it.

It takes you a few minutes to notice you are on the verge of hyperventilating. You know you have to calm down and get your shit together, but the thought alone ain't really helping. This is most likely the end for you and even though you hate to think about it, for Dave too. God, this all feels so surreal. 

How? How could this happen to you of all people? You are Striders, you are combat trained and careful! Why!? You always thought if you had to die it was in some big heroic act or at least in an awesome fight, protecting what you love, doing it with dignity. Not like this. Not like this!

The grating of wood over concrete floor as a door opens catches your attention. You take a deep shuddering breath. Light footsteps slowly draw closer. It's the kid. Why the fuck send the kid in first?

“Finally! I was getting worried you might not wake up. After I hit you with that bottle you were bleeding a lot. Sorry about that, I really thought you'd stay unconscious long enough to get you back here.”

You perk your ears but other than that you don't react. From what you can hear, he stops a good 4 feet away from you and circles you a few times.

“I'm glad, it doesn't seem like I damaged your head badly,” he sounds relieved and you snort disparagingly at that. You can practically hear him frown in reaction.

“Wow, really? I get that you're angry and stuff, but do you really think it's smart to get so cocky Mr. Broderick Rosalind Strider? I read your ID cards. Dave Elisabeth Strider, hehe. What's up with those sunglasses and the middle names? I would like to have a chat with your parents. Hehehe.” he giggles and you want to puke. He sounds so damn innocent and happy. As if you weren't tied up, gagged, and blindfolded in his basement and more like he was having a birthday party with a pony, a magician, and a bounce house.

“Ah, but that's not why I'm here. Would you sit down please?” There is an awkward silence but you don't move a muscle. He clicks his tongue disapprovingly.

“Look at you, so mature! I just want to take that sack off your head. Can you not make this into some kind of major issue?”

For a few more seconds you stand still, weighing your options. At this point there is probably no point in resisting anymore. Not yet at least. A deep growl emerges from your chest and you slide back down onto your knees.  
Small freezing fingers flutter over your neck and you fail not to jerk away. No matter how much you try to convince yourself that you are only dealing with a kid here, you have a cold heavy knot in your stomach. You have no illusions about the graveness of this situation. You are in deep shit.

John’s bony little hands gently roll the fabric of the bag over your chin, brushing against your stubble, past your nose. The pads of his soft hands feel smooth against your cheekbones; no calluses... Whatever he was trained for, you don't think he ever did any hard labor. Whoever controls the boy seems to do most of his dirty work himself. Finally you feel the edge of the bag against your forehead and hair. John is close enough for you to hear his heavy breathing, feel it warm breath against your sweat moistened skin. 

He is nervous. Good, he should be. You double him in height, more than double him in weight, he is skin and bones and your biceps is thicker than both of his thighs together. For your age you are in good form. For a split second you think about head butting or kicking him, but then again, he is just a kid, and you don't want to anger whoever sent him down here before you know more. Still, you think John has all reason in the world to be just as nervous as you are. 

You keep your eyes closed and steady your breath. Short fingernails gingerly start to fumble with the edges of the tape over your mouth. You use the time to think the next steps through again. 

First you'll try to get him to spill something about Dave’s whereabouts. You know the kid probably expects you to but that is the most important thing, so why disappoint him? Should be easy enough. Next you'll have to find out the reason you're here, and more about the kid’s state of mind. How brainwashed is he? If possible you need the kid on your side. Whoever brought you here depends on John enough to play the bait and-

“OK. This will probably burn a little. I mean, some of your hair will come off with the tape.” You didn't think of that yet. Your eyes snap open and you stare in his pale face. It's a little blurry at first; the lights are dimmed and flickering but not bright enough to blind you so you regain focus rather quickly. 

John’s face looks even whiter in the cool shine of the light pipe above your heads. With naked spite, you notice that the kid didn't get away without any minor injuries. Kid's covered in small bruises and scratches. He isn’t wearing his glasses. They probably broke during the accident. His blue eyes look bigger without them. He appears even younger and less dangerous than you know he is.

For a long moment you just stare at each other, his eyes seem to be locked to your gaze, scanning through them, trying to read you just as you try to read him. Maybe he is just fascinated with the bright amber of your irises. Ain't a color you get to see every day. You furrow your brows and he slowly licks his lips, twisting the corner of duct tape between his fingers. He really does look sick and hungry, but you can't feel any sympathy for the boy. Not after- 

“URGH!!” With a swift motion of the skinny arm John ripped the tape off without warning. You yowl around the rag and John jumps a few steps back. With a hiss you spit the nasty fabric on the floor. Your right cheek and lips are burning. You feel little droplets of blood are forming where the tape ripped the stubble off especially brutally. A good part of the tape is still firmly attached to your left cheek. You suck a few harsh breaths through clenched teeth before you stretch your stiff jaw.

“Are you OK?” for the first time Johns voice sounds hesitant.  
“What does it look like, fruitcake?” You scoff and shake your head, your voice sounds hoarse and your dry throat doesn't make talking any easier. 

Your eyes scan over the room. Focus. Just as you thought, you are in a basement. The room is pretty big but relatively empty. A lot of wooden support beams, the floor plain concrete. A few chairs, a table, and a giant pegboard that was missing a few tools. Aaaand Jackpot. There are bloodstains on the floor. Great. Your eyes shut again and against your will your breath speeds up a little. Damn it, you feel so sick.  
You will not panic, you will not panic, you will not panic, youwillnotpanic. But it's hard when you can't fight for your life.

“Uh, I guess this is the right time to say that everything will be alright as long as you just act reasonable and don't flip out. No wait, maybe I should have said that before I took those off, uuuh, god damn it, I'm messing the order up already.”

You can hear him rustling around and when you look up he is reading through what looks like a cheat sheet. You gape at him for a second.

“... Are ya serious?” you croak and he holds up his hand while reading.  
“Give me a minute, OK? I want to do this right.”  
“Where's Dave!?” you really don't have time for this shit! Ah, actually you have, you just don't have the nerve for it.  
“Shut up! I said give me a minute!”  
“AN' I SAID: WHERE. IS. DAVE!” 

The kid furrows his brows and looks you up and down a few times. Then he sighs and scratches at the back of his head.

“Dave is not up yet. And stop glaring at me, I'm doing my best to make you guys comfortable!”

“Oh, well if that's the case then it's a whole different story. Good job, kiddo!”

“Yeah, go ahead and make fun of me, but I could make this a whole lot worse for you! And this-” he points his index at you, “-is only temporary! Just until you understand everything! You'll see it's not as bad as it seems now! AURGH! It's hard to explain though! Now shut up, I can't mess this up again.” He waves his little slip of paper around in a big gesture and then starts to study it again.

“Where is Dave.”

He chooses to ignore you this time and you grunt. Yeah. Kid's trying to play games. Not smart to choose a Strider for this.

“Where is Dave. Where is Dave. WHERE. IS. DAVE. Where is Dave. Where is Dave. Where is Dave. Where is Dave. Where is Dave. WHERE. IS. DAVE. Where is Dave. Where is Dave. Where is Dave. Where is Dave. Where is Dave. WHERE. IS. DAVE. Where is Dave. Where is Dave. Where is Dave. Where is Dave. Where is Dave. WHERE. IS. DAVE. Where is Dave. Where is Dave. Where is Dave. Where is Dave. Where is Dave. WHERE. IS. DAVE. Where is Dave. Where is Dave. Where is Dave. Where is Dave. Where is Dave. WHERE. IS. DAVE. Where is Dave. Where is Dave. Where is Dave. Where is Dave. Where is Dave. WHERE. IS. DAVE. Where is Dave. Where is Dave. Where is Dave. Where is Da-”

“WOW, STOP! He's upstairs! OK? What the fuck is wrong with you guys?!”  
“What the fuck is wrong with _you_ guys?!” You shoot back and actually catch him off guard. His eyes widen comically.  
“How do you... did you see- ..?” there is a small pause and he seems you to expect you to finish his sentence but you don't and he does it himself. “Why do you think there are more?”  
“Pfft. I doubt ya carried us here on yer own kid. Don't wanna offend ya but yer kinda lackin' the muscle.”  
John lowers his head and starts to stare at his feet. Point for you. The kid is passing around information like... don't say cheap cigars. Don't do it. Not now. Not the situation, Bro.

“Do they make ya do this?”  
“... OK look, you don't understand it yet, but you are here for a good reason! This is not only about you! My life is on the line too! I'm- I don't want to hurt you, but I will and I'm kind of sorry, I guess. And PLEASE. Don't try to play any games or I'll make Dave suffer the consequences! I took enough tools upstairs with me to-”  
“NO! Jesus, ... Calm down. Everything’s fine. Ya don't have to do this, kid. Ya don't HAVE to.”

The boy’s eyes narrow and the air feels downright static. You're just staring at each other. The blue of his eyes seems way brighter than when you picked him up. Maybe it's just your imagination or the lighting in here, but- BANG!  
One of the light bulbs over your heads explodes and nearly gives you a heart attack. Thin glass flies and you tug your face against your shoulder to protect your eyes while the kid jumps out of the way, and going by his expression he is just as surprised as you, if not more. For a few seconds you are both silent. 

“You have no idea.” John breaks the silence first. He sounds breathless and angry as he turns on his heel. And you try to lunge forward, grab him, stop him! SOMETHING! The support beam in your back stops you.  
“Wait! Where do ya think yer goin'!? Kid! Come back right now! I have questions! You owe me answers! STOP!!” in the heat of the moment you feel the spit fly with your yelling but you really couldn't care less. The rope cuts into your arms but you still pull against it. Your lungs ache with the strain of the constant change in your breathing pattern.

The boy stops and for a short while he stands perfectly still at the bottom of the stairs. He’s thinking things through, and so are you. A thousand questions shoot through your head. What is the plan? Where are you? Why are you here? How long will we be here? What if you need to take a piss? 

You don't think you have ever seen human eyes glow in the dark. Like that of a deer just out of the scope of the headlights, or that of a cat in the dim light of the moon. Big and round and reflecting... just bluer and oddly cold. It sends a shiver prickling down your spine.

“I do what I want. Think about that.” You are taken by surprise by the fierceness of the kid but you gather your senses when he turns around and makes his way up the stairs. SHIT.

“HELL NO YA WON'T! WHERE YA THINK YA GOIN'?! KID!? JOHN!!”

You continue to yell and scream and vent your anger and frustration until you're hoarse, long after you hear the door shut behind him. God, why you? You try your hardest not to let fear get the best of you, but slowly it does.  
Can you really do something to get out of this? There is nothing you can think of but by the look of it, you have plenty of time to figure something out now. You just hope that Dave is alright.

 

 

The next time you hear the door move is hours later. You can't tell how many; could be 3 or could be 6. You had a lot of time to calm down and think things through. That's all that counts.

You raise your head and see the boy hunkering down on the top of the concrete stairs to take a look at you. He just stays there for a minute, observing you before he comes down. His light footsteps barely make any noise.  
He pulls some kind of thick wire behind him. Every 2 feet there is a small bump on it. Barely visible but there. He stops and hooks it into a chain on the wall about 12 feet across from you and a lock makes the construction complete. 

You stare at him and John glares back. For some reason he is still angry with you. Great. Yeah, make the little pet-boy of your kidnapper mad. That'll surely help to get you out of here alive and in one piece! Still, you don't get why he's the one who gets to be angry now, considering your positions. Another thing you hate about kids. They are unreasonable. You suppress an annoyed groan and dig out your best nice uncle voice.

“Hey, John.”  
“Bro.” he replies dryly and drags a chair from the table to the wall where he fastened the wire.  
“Yer gettin' Dave down here now?”  
“No.”  
“So cold, babe.”  
“I tried to explain it, but you are being an idiot about this!”  
“Would ya fetch me a drink?”  
“...”  
“Orange soda.”  
“...”  
“With a lil cocktail umbrella if ya have.”  
“...”  
“Preferably an orange slice, too.”

John clicks his tongue and flips you off but you can see the smile tug at the corner of his lips. He hunkers down again and starts to fasten the excess chain from the wall around the chair. You wish lil’ Cal was here for a fist bump because you are awesome. You'll win this kid over in no time if you concentrate on it.

“Come on John, yer a big boy. I'm dyin' of thirst. Yer not that cruel, right?” you emphasize it with a dry cough, letting your tongue hang out like a cartoon figure would. You lay it on thick for him. He turns back around to face you and studies your naked face. Shades. You really miss your shades.  
“Why should I? You haven't been exactly nice to me since you woke up.”  
“Cuz that's proper manners, kid. I admit I was flippin' out a lil’, but ya can't really blame me for that. Probably even got a concussion.” you shrug.  
“... I'll see what I can get, but I know it won't be orange soda. Or any kind of soda.”  
“I can make do with that. Thanks, John.” You huff and catch him smile while he stares at his shoes. 

He's still not wearing any socks. Kid might not have anything but the clothes he wears. Something is odd about this picture.. Someone put a lot of effort into training such a young child to bait and take out adults. Grown men, but they don't care enough to give the kid some socks or fitting shoes. It doesn't fit in the picture it's- it doesn't make sense! At least not yet.

“John?”  
“Hmmhm.” He's till fiddling with the construction you think is destined for Dave.  
“Why are we here?”

He blinks at you as if you just asked him the most obvious thing in the world.

“Because I want you to be here.”

 

 

It's almost half an hour later before John returns with what looks like a juice box. It seems to be a multivitamin juice. Your knees hurt but you still lean forward on them and gratefully suck on the straw while he is holding the box for you. You really have to fight not to jump up and kick the kid in the shin right there, but you manage. 

You ask him about Dave a few more times but when you notice it's starting to make him mad you give up on it. Seems like the kid won't tell you shit before he has you where he wants you. And you would act it for him, if only you knew where that is. One wrong step and John will grab a hammer and have a little rendezvous with Dave. You can't let him suffer just because you're an anxious, impatient fuck. You just hope the kid said the truth and your brother is still alive and in good condition.

And you have to admit the kid isn't as dumb as you hoped. Most of your attempts to draw more information out of him are blocked with sentences that sound like he learned them from an exercise book. Considering John uses cheat sheets for whatever idiotic reason that's not even all that ridiculous. Every second answer is an annoyed “I do what I want.”, or starts with “You just need to behave-”, and ends on “-it'll all be over soon!” in a consoling tone, and that's not as reassuring as John might think it is.

Slowly but surely you don't know what to think of it anymore though. There are clear indicators that the boy isn't doing it of his own free will.  
He apologizes from time to time and always mentions he does not want to hurt either of you, and that he has no choice, that his life depends on it. He seems uncertain of his actions, always has to look up what to do on his cheat sheets, and every now and then shoots looks over his shoulder and in the direction of the door.  
Yet John gets angry when you indicate it's not his fault. He is keen on making clear to you that everything he does happens because he wishes for it, and does not shy away from threatening you or Dave with a hammer when you so much as hint you could get the 3 of you out of here safely and that it doesn't have to be like this. 

He kidnapped you. But here he is, laughing and giggling at your jokes and staged ironic behavior, greedily taking in every nice word you have for him, which is good. You need him to like you. He looks sorry when you complain about your bruises or the chafe wounds on your arms and wrists, or when you ask him for something to drink or food in a weak voice. He jumps at every opportunity to talk about mundane things. You tried movies, video games, music and school so far, and everything he tells you sounds like he got it straight out of his movies. Every other topic is met with an ice cold gaze and lips pressed into a line thin enough to pass as a pink earphone strap. 

 

 

Finally, after a few more hours the moment of truth arrives. You can't hold it any longer. The pressure in your bladder added up to get dangerously uncomfortable. And you know the kid doesn't trust you at all. At best he thinks you're funny. At best. Like hell he'll let you use a bathroom. 

With a sigh you press your thighs even tighter together and train your eyes on the stairs. You are slowly growing desperate and you refuse to piss yourself. Not like you really have a choice here. You know it, but you have to try anyway. If you don't get to use the pot now, you won't during your whole stay, you are sure of that. 

“HEY! HEY EGBERT! KIDDO!” You wait for a few seconds before you call out again and you hear muttering from above. John appears on the stairs and he wears nothing but his shorts, his hair sticks out in odd angles and his eyes are heavy lidded. You get a good look aty his hollowing stomach and jutting ribs. He is covered in bruises and some of them look too old to have come from your accident. Either he gets beaten a lot or he pulled this traffic accident bullshit more often than you want to think about. Maybe even both.

“What?” oh what a perfect start he's unhappy with you and tired. You probably woke him up.  
“I don't wanna complain, really, it's been fun so far. But kid, I'm burstin'. Don't ya think it's time for a bio-break?”

John rubs his eyes and sits down on the steps, clearly taking his sweet time to get comfortable.

“Can you say that again? What kind of break? Bursting with what?”  
“Fuck, KID! Really? May I use your Bathroom! I'm in a lil hurry here!”

He raises an questioning eyebrow at you but in the next moment his eyes widen and he scrambles back onto his feet. You get the feeling he didn't think about this possibility until now.

“REALLY?”  
“No, I'm just sayin' that for shits and giggles, 'cause that is a thing a man would obviously joke about when in captivity. OF COURSE REALLY! Come on kid, this is becomin' urgent!”  
“But- uhh, oh god.”  
“Bathroom John! NOW!”  
“Right!” he fidgets and hops down a few steps but stops. “Wait- no! Not right! I mean yeah it's right, but not in this situation! I'm sorry!” he rushes back upstairs and you cough. No. Nononono no.  
“WAIT!! WHERE-! I'M SERIOUS, I'LL PISS MYSELF! I'LL HAVE A FUCKIN' OMORASHI FESTIVAL DOWN HERE! I HOPE YA'LL HAVE FUN CLEANIN' THAT MESS UP!” you desperately yell after him and start to squirm. Haha, damn are you serious. 

It might have been smarter to ask for this earlier. No, it would have definitely been smarter. But you were still thinking you'd get him to somehow let you use a toilet. You are rather self-opinionated, and now you'll pay the price. 

It's tragic but there is some irony in that that you can actually appreciate. It's suddenly way less sexy when you can't control the circumstances.

You huff and strain your neck. He hasn't closed the door at the top of the stairs. From the position you're in you can't see anything, but you can definitely hear better. He's frantically running around, occasionally passing the open door. And he is talking to someone.

“I know! It's not my fault, after the last one I simply forgot since he didn't need one! Now I feel like an asshole!”

He's running by the door again and you can clearly hear footsteps trail after him. Louder, someone bigger than him. You'd analyze the scene more precisely but you are currently busy concentrating on not wetting yourself like a toddler.

“What does the manual say about this? Show me the pages on this! Ahhh... where where, AH! Thank you I- … … ... that's not helping at all! I can't do it like that!” a loud thudding noise echoes down to you.  
“... I know, I KNOW! Wait what are you- no- WAIT!” the footsteps of the other one become louder and come closer to the door while John’s disappear and you hear him curse and struggle.

The door shuts behind him and he appears again, holding a bucket, reluctantly making his way down the stairs. You'd feel humiliated if you weren’t so relieved. He hesitates for a second before he jumps forward and places the bucket in front of you. He seems to be frozen in place, looking at his now bare feet with the same helplessness he showed you in your pickup when you asked him about his family traditions.

“There you go.” He can't even look at you and you don't have the nerve left to repress an annoyed grunt.  
“Ya can't be serious.”  
“Oh, I very much am.” he assures you, nodding to himself and staring at a stain on the wall, just anywhere but at you.  
“What the fuck am I supposed to do with that?!”  
“Well, take a piss, what else is there to do with that?!”  
“Oh right and my dick will just free itself from my pants of its own accord and magically hit the target!” you scoff, tempted to kick the bucket against the kid’s head.

He turns to face you and his jaw drops; it's obvious now. He just noticed that's not how it'll work. The fuck is wrong with this kid? How can he not have thought of that already? You desperately press your thighs harder together, tensing every muscle you have in a futile attempt to gain time and glare at the boy.

“John I'm runnin' low on time here, PLEASE.” you growl. You have given up on nice and friendly 2 minutes ago, all you think now is you don't want to sit in your own piss for the rest of your stay, however long that will be. Even if that would probably be easier.

“I'm not gonna free you.” he looks nervous but in the most determined way.  
“I don't care! Just hurry up and do something!”

John bites his lip, deep in thought and giving you a quick once-over. OK, that's it. You tried, you failed, you will kill John the moment you get the chance. But before you can get another rage fit the boy sprints up to you and starts to fiddle with your fly with tiny, shaky hands. 

You quickly raise your head and stare at the ceiling to avoid looking at his slender white fingers and round, flushed face under the mop of greasy black hair. You try hard not to notice that his fingers still feel as cold on your stomach as they felt when they tugged that bag off your head. You try.

Yup. You're going to hell. You got a kid to touch your prick. Doesn't matter that the circumstances are speaking for you, that the kid kidnapped you, whacked your head with a bottle, and threatened to knock your and Dave’s teeth out with a hammer. It doesn't matter that the whole thing is as erotic as a video of a dog that shit’s on a baby. Because the right thing to do would be shove the kid out of the way with your knee and piss your pants like a man. But when you think about how you might be here for days or weeks or even … die here-

Cold fingers slip into your boxers and you are so lost in thought that you jolt and leak a little. Appalled John pulls his hands back jumps back- FUCK.  
“No, no, nononono, no! No, JOHN! I'm sorry, OK?! I' AM FUCKIN' SORRY! Shit, shit. SHIT! Kid, don't leave me hangin'! Please! Fuckin' please!” you're begging. Full on, honest to god begging. Whiny tone of voice shaking shoulders and desperate rapid breathing wracked by a small half sob. 

You don't want to be stuck with pissing/shittin yourself for days! If he's not helping you now he won’t have less qualms the next time! If he doesn't want to touch you now, he won't touch you to clean your mess either! And like hell he'll let you clean yourself! Hygiene over dignity! No, hygiene IS dignity! You can go a few days without brushing your teeth or taking a shower but this is too much!

“John, John. John! Don't-! Oh god- PLEASE, I-” you don't think you have ever needed to take a piss this badly in your life. Your gaze locks with John’s and you know you are screwed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHAHAHAHAHA. Soooo who of you wants Bro to piss himself and who wants John to help him? Heh? HEH?? *ggg* *impish grin x10*
> 
> Really I waited for this day to come so long and I'd give so much to see your faces when you read the end of the chapter like. Who of you goes EW and who get's excited and who just laughs theior ass off and shit like that. DAMN. I want to know what type of readers I have!


	3. What the fuck.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave finally wakes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted to hold this back for a week or something like that. So yeah. I'm not very patient it seems. Because damn I'm so curious to see how you'll react!  
> Really I wish I could be there and watch your faces when you read like a creep. Because, I am a sucker for watchiong peoples faces when they read or watch movies.
> 
>  
> 
> And again big thanks to my lovely proofreader CaliginousCandy!! Without her this wouldn't be hald as fun as it is! Believe me, it wouldn't! xD  
> BB you're an inspiration a motivator and a supergood friend and If you wouldn't have answerd me you'd like to proofread in chap one I'd have never gotten to know you and would be a sad lil puddle of bad grammar and poor spelling with nobody who'd listen to my ideas and headcanons. *telepathic hug for youuuu*

You blink. When did you fall asleep? The cushions feel damn scratchy even though they shouldn't. You washed the bedding last week with way too much fabric softener. … It doesn't smell like your fabric softener either though. …How weird.

You turn to lay on your side and take a deep breath but then feel the duct tape over your mouth. You open your eyes and jump up but pain shoots through your neck and down chest and spine. You almost strangled yourself! Your hands shoot up to your neck while you cough and fight for air, breathing through your nose.

There- is a bag over your head and underneath... is a fucking prong collar around your neck. There is a lock on it. Your fingers follow a chain connected to both the lock and the collar that seems to end on the wall behind the headboard. Your hands don't reach so far thanks to what feels like big, padded cuffs. The chains on those seem to end somewhere under the mattress. So are those that seem to be on your feet. 

It takes you a bit to swallow that; you have no idea what this could be about. You were having this gig and... Yeah, breakfast at the motel. That fucking buffet. Best buffet ever hands down. But after that? Nothing. Abso-fucking-lutely nothing.

You touch the bag on your head and try to tug it over your head. Due to the length of the chains from your handcuffs and collar you get only far enough to uncover your taped mouth without strangling yourself. Still, whoever did this probably didn't really know what they were doing. The set up is good but you were left with more freedom than will do whoever-did-this any good. 

You doubt it's a prank from Bro. He's never gone this far before and he is more of the type for jump-scares. Maybe a fan that followed you to the motel? What's-her-name you slept with yesterday seemed a little crazy. Not that much, but you're not exactly an expert on psychology. You have a history of misjudging the state of mind of your fans. It’s happened twice already that a girl left you naked and handcuffed to the bed and you had to wait for Bro to free you. The duct tape and the collar are new though. So are the mental blank and the fact that you are still dressed.

You're not very worried though. Now that you're awake, you'll just test what your range of motion is and wait for either Bro to free you or the girl who did this to come back and, uh, negotiate you guess?

You sigh and relax against your pillow. What else is there to do now, really? You try not to imagine how Bro will rub your nose in it later and with how much glee and fail tremendously.

 

You flinch awake when you feel the mattress lower on your right and hear whoever sat down there jump up again, stumble, and fall. You didn't even notice you fell back asleep. How much time has passed?  
You want to rub your head but suddenly the chains on your padded cuffs are a lot shorter than you remembered them and you can barely lift your hands off the mattress. Shortened while you were asleep, you think, why the hell didn't that wake you up?  
Your whole body hurts and you faintly remember you didn't feel like this when you woke up the first time. You feel like someone gave you a thorough treatment with a baseball bat.

You take a calming breath and greet the mystery person with a muffled “Mwpfm bwm,” but the room is silent again. For a second you think you might have just dreamed the person next to you but there is sudden scrambling on the floor to your left and before you can react you hear a door slam. 

What the ever loving fuck was that?

You don't get much time to ponder on that because the door opens again and this time there are two pairs of footsteps.  
“Thank god... I really thought I killed him! He bled so much and his leg really looked bad. Ohhhh, my god. I liked him so much. That really would have sucked if I had only Bro left. He's being a bit of an ass.” a boy’s voice says and you knit your brows in confusion. What?  
You can't hear the reply to that. A few breathy noises but you don't think anything is actually said. The boy replies anyway, as if he actually heard something.  
“It's not that I like one of them better or uhm... much at all, I shouldn't. Not yet. This is not about likability but about suitability. Says the manual.” a few pages are flipped audibly and slowly you grow a bit nervous. You understand jack-shit. Why is there a child here? This is making no sense at all!  
“You know what, even if you are right I can't make a difference or I ruin it. I had to kill the last one, and eating them is really hard after you start to like them. So this time I won't care so much.” Oh god, what?! Oh no, oh god, oh no...  
“No, I won't. I'll follow the manual this time. You'll see! It will work out just fine and I'll save you. I'll save you and we'll go back home. I promise.” his voice shakes a little but he sounds resolute nonetheless and you try to force yourself to wake up. This is too out of touch with the real world. Things like that don't happen in the real world. At least not to you!  
“He's still alive and that means I have 2 chances, right? That should buy you some time.” there is a sigh and you don't know from which of them, but the door closes again and you feel the kid climb rather clumsily in your bed. The difference in the feeling of it is too big to be the same person than before, so the one who woke you up is probably the second person. Great deductive skills, detective Strider. Especially since there are more important things at hand. You have to get out of here, have to find a way to- 

The kid straddles you and you go rigid. Oooookay. What the fuck. Small, cold fingers creep over your exposed jaw and up your cheeks until they meet your ear and he jerks back with a sharp intake of breath as if he had burned himself.

“You... you're not wearing earphones. Why are you not wearing the earphones?” he sounds positively horrified. It's silent for a moment and you shrug since it seemed like he waited for an answer from you.  
“... Sorry, Dave... you heard that right?” He sucks in another breath through his teeth and you can practically hear him gnaw on his lips. You just hope you didn't overhear something that will cost you your life. These people are insane.  
“You really shouldn't have heard that. But- uh, don't worry. I kill people, yes, but I do it to live. I'm not bad, OK? I know that sounds weird, but you have to believe me! When you are scared of me I can't- ...” he stops, catching himself before he reveals too much.  
“But don't worry, I tested you thoroughly during the ride and I'm confident you'll pass! I don't think I'll have to hurt you. You're a good guy and you won't freak out, right?”  
A cold shudder runs down your spine and you swallow hard. For some reason he's nervous. He knows your name, and it sounds like he's had history with you. It slowly dawns on you that your blackout covers more time than you thought. 

“Right, Dave? You won't freak out on me.” again, he expects you to answer and you do the only logical thing you can do. You nod.  
“... Thank you. You're so much more agreeable than Bro. He yelled at me! Didn't even listen!” You push up and struggle under him and he shoves his hands against your shoulders with all of his weight.  
“He's OK! Calm down he is fine! As long as you behave I won't hurt him and I told him the same about you! But if you struggle like that your stitches will pop and I don't have enough painkillers for both, you AND the ritual!” you freeze and he pushes you back down, cooing at you “There we go. Hehe. You're a good guy.” before he pets your chest.

This is so surreal. So you and Bro are here. But what ritual is he talking about? The first thing that comes to your mind when hearing ritual is DOOM³, because you recently played it, but you doubt the kid is talking about anything Satanic. You hope so. The cliché image of black candles, cryptic symbols, and dead chickens is stuck in your head regardless.

The small cold hands are back on your face and he slowly starts to pull up the bag. As soon as it passes your nose you open your eyes and he stops for a second when your eyes meet. When light hits your pupils, you flinch and turn your head. You're not wearing your shades, you simply forgot.

The bag brushes against your hair when it comes off and you try again. Your eyes skim quickly over the boy, small, skinny, and covered in bruises and little cuts. He's nothing special, another piece that seems to be wrong in this fucked up puzzle. How can someone this young have killed... people? 

“Your eyes are red.” He seems a little taken aback and you huff a breath through your nose while dramatically rolling your eyes in the process.

Your eyes wander and you do what Bro taught you. Analyze the situation. Explore your surroundings.  
A run down room; windows closed, moth-eaten, dark curtains, a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling, bleached yellow wallpaper, a blind mirror, a cupboard right underneath it. You lift your hands a little and investigate the cuffs and it looks like you are lying in an old hospital bed with integrated restraints like the kind used long ago in mental asylums. 

Taking a closer look there is something dark on the padding inside the cuffs and- holyshitthatsblood!

You're getting dizzy as the graveness of the situation finally hits you head on. Holy fuck. Your breath hitches and the kid’s eyes follow your line of sight.  
“Oh, that's not yours! Don't worry! I... we couldn't wash that off but, as you see, we changed the sheets for you,” he smiles and you squeeze your eyes shut and try to calm your breathing but you can't and just barely gulp back a sob. 

The kid is a nut! You are in deep, deep shit! You'll most certainly die! You are too young to die; you aren't even that famous yet, your music hasn't gotten the attention it’s worth yet, you wanted to work on Sweet Bro & Hella Jeff more, you haven't even beat Bro in a strife just once, you wanted to fall head over heels in love at least once in your life, maybe marry one day when the crazy anonymous sex would have gotten boring or you would have met the right one, whatever would have happened first! You can't die yet you aren't done with your life yet!

In one moment, you muse over the wonders of breakfast and in the next you lie in a bed somebody was probably murdered in with a psychopathic grade-schooler sitting on your abdomen and mentally apologizing to Bro for nagging at him so much throughout your life about basically nothing and start to hyperventilate! This is fucked up beyond belief, but here you are! And breathing as rapidly through your nose as you are in all this proves to be difficult!

“Don't freak out! You said you wouldn't! Hey! Look at me! Dave, look at me, it's not as bad as it seems!” the kid demands, voice raising a pitch as if infected with your panic, and grabs your face in both hands.  
“You need to calm down! Slow, deep breaths! He-HEY! LOOK AT ME!” he shouts and shakes your head and your eyes snap back open. Shocked. He considers you a few seconds before he smiles again and slowly leans down to press his forehead against yours. 

Your noses touch, weirdly mismatched in size. You are swallowed by the blue of his eyes and there is nothing you can do but listen to his attempt to calm you down.

“Breathe, Dave. In... And out. In... And out, nice. Just like that. There. It's easy right? You don't have to be scared. Don't think. Juuuuust breathe. You're doing great. In... And out.” his voice is nothing but a small whisper but it cuts through the mist of panic that clouds your mind like a sword through a piece of butter or something similarly easy to cut with a long sharp object. You can't come up with a good metaphor right now; you are busy with breathing and trying not to think. 

And just like that it continues for a while. The little whispers fill your mind while you dive deeper into that blue and completely forget about your surroundings as if in trance. You have no idea how or why but since you were told not to think, you won't ponder on it and let it go.

You don't know how long it is before you feel the kid move on your stomach. He sits up and pets your chest fondly. Now that you are not caught in the blue of his eyes anymore you can start to think again. You feel a bit as if you won a long strife. Tired but satisfied, and as much as you think you have all reason in the world to be panicked, the feeling only returns as a cold, tingling sensation low in your gut. You feel simply relaxed and you can't really find it in you to question it.

Once again his hands find your face, this time he fiddles with the duct tape over your mouth. It takes a while, but he finds a loose end to carefully pull on and-  
“Umph. Ow- Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow- “  
His smile widens and he stops in his ministrations to grace you with an impish little grin.  
“Shup.” you greet.  
“Dork.” he chuckles and continues to slowly pull on the tape.  
“Wai- Ow. Ow, ow- jush rippit off,” it's hard to talk when your mouth is still half covered in a sticky, proper-breathing-restricting strip of reinforced, synthetic fiber. You think you start to understand the feeling of a leaking pipe now. Let it leak if it wants for god’s sake, nothing should have to suffer through duct tape!  
“Rippit off I shay.”  
“I can't.”  
“Do it.”  
“It'll bleed.”  
“It won't.”  
“When I did it earlier, it did! Now I'm doing it slowly.”

You know he is talking about Bro and now that you think about, yeah, okay, the stubble would cause some bleeding but your face is smoother than a motherfucking mango. You see to that every day, first thing in the morning, even before you brush your teeth. Yes. You are a mango. Bro is a fucking kiwi though. Reminds you of the exotic fruit at the breakfast buffet. Why the fuck are you so obsessed with that breakfast?

“Rip it off.”  
“It will bleed.”

You sigh and let him peel it off at his own pace. Under minimal protest on your side, that is. If he insists, you won't stop him. Not that you could, but you can complain. That's probably what you can do best if you'd ask Bro.

“So I take it that now that you freed me of Satan’s adhesive hand of silence-” note to yourself don't mention Satan in funny little metaphors in front of an underage ritual murderer. “I am free to ask you questions?”  
“... I guess?”  
“Not to come across as rude but-”  
“Then don't. Hehe.”  
“But... who are you again?” he was about to climb off of you but stops mid motion, both hands still firmly applied on your chest to lift his... you want call his frame wispy but on second thought, that's weird.  
He's not looking at you, but you can see his eyes widen anyway and they just steal an almost disappointed glimpse at you. He... Dismounts (why the hell was that the first word that came to your mind? Try and not use any sensual wording for a kid that ties you up and straddles your lap!) you.

You really don't think you should be this composed either. For a few seconds you go as far as to accuse the boy of hypnotizing you but on second thought he mentioned he gave you painkillers so maybe that's that. Yes, you are more comfortable with the idea of your sudden, unnatural, almost serene state of mind being the consequence of drugs, even if it doesn't explain why you were able to feel this panicked in the first place dammitwhydoyouhavetobesosmart.

He hops off the bed and picks up what looks like a black high-end briefcase. Another thing that looks out of place and convinces you a little more that you are just having a really absurd dream and that that is the reason you can't remember how all this even happened.  
When he throws it on the bed next to you the corner hits your elbow. You consider this a shred of hope and you cling to it. Dreams aren't supposed to actually hurt, are they?

Carefully you tip your head and stretch a little, not wanting to press the prongs of the collar any deeper into your neck while you try and inspect the inside of the mysterious article. Annnnd immediately regret it.

The first thing you lay eyes on is a set of metal syringes tugged into pencil holders and a couple of small glass bottles. Considering your situation, it's either poison or the earlier mentioned painkillers. You swallow and crane your neck a little more. There are 2 leather-bound books in it also; one that's small and gray, probably an organizer, and another, bigger and dark brown one. You have no idea what it is.

“I'm John.”  
“Hi, John.” you mumble absentmindedly, trying to make out more contents of the briefcase but the kid already shuts it. He fills a syringe with clear fluid from a little brown bottle. You swallow repeatedly and sink back into the pillow.  
“No- no, no, no, John you don't have to do this whatever you are doing you don't-”  
“Hehehe, it's just painkillers, you dummy!”  
“Look, kid- John, I'm not even in pain and I don't think you are qualif-”  
“What do you mean you're not in pain? The last dose should have already worn off!” he looks confused and puts the syringe on the cupboard beside him and you sigh out in relief. He reopens the briefcase and flips through the big brown book for a minute, squinting as if he had trouble seeing what he was doing and holding it awfully close to his face.  
“There! I was right! I didn't give you enough local anesthetic to last for more than 2 hours!”  
“I told you I'm fine!”  
“You're not!”  
“I am!”  
“You're suffering!”  
“I'M NOT!  
“CALM DOWN!”  
“I AM CALM!”  
“YOU ARE NOT!”  
“I SAID I-”

BANG BANG BANG! A fist hammers the outside of your door and you both jump. You were so absorbed in denying a pain that you actually do not feel and to not have a child play doctor with you that you forgot everything around you.

“I'm fine!” John shouts over his shoulder, shakes his head and scowls back at you.  
“Believe me when I say I don't feel it whatever it is and I don't need you to-”  
“That is not your decision.” he hisses. Something has changed. What did you do wrong? He didn't look at you like that a few seconds ago.  
“John... Hey.”  
“Don't ‘hey’ me. I know you think I'm a little kid but look at you and look at me and then tell me who the capable one is!”  
“I didn't mean to-”  
“You did! And that reminded me of something important! I really don't have the time to play with you I have a tight schedule and you either play along or you end up as dinner in a few days!” You flinch and like an idiot, you follow the impulse to struggle when he picks up the syringe.  
“Don't.”  
“You don't get it! I am helping you! And the sooner I am done with you the earlier Bro get's his drink! I told him I'd get him one and now god knows how much time has passed! And I take everything back; he behaves better than you do!” The more John talks, the more upset he gets and you know that's bad you know upsetting the lil worm will only get you into more trouble, but really that needle doesn't look thin or sharp enough to be of this century and the kid doesn't look anything like a schooled doctor. 

Helplessly you watch as John walks around the bed and fumbles with the leg of your jeans and you are surprised how easily you feel it come off and how uncomfortable that is. You take a deep breath and probably make your biggest mistake you have so far. You sit up the few inches you can to follow the reflex to look down and see what John is doing. As soon as you see it you start to feel it and choke on a pained moan.

Even from this weird angle it's hard to miss. There is a deep cut down your shin and the sheets beneath it are lightly bloodied. It looks like they tried to administer first aid. The leg of your skinny jeans is cut open from the bottom hem to your knee and when you take a second look you can make out black makeshift stitches. The wound seems cleaned and you can't see anything that would indicate infection. You are pretty sure Bro hit you worse a few times but it still doesn't look good. Anyway, if it's not infected with this type of treatment it can't have been be like this for long.

The kid picks on one of your stitches and you jerk you leg away- “STOP!” but you pretty much don’t move at all. Wasted effort.  
He doesn't react.  
“I can do that myself just loosen up the shackles a bit and I'll do it.”  
“I'm not giving you a sharp object and enough freedom of movement to free your legs. I'm not stupid.”  
“John.”  
“No.” he scowls you into silence and starts to flick his finger against the syringe to rid it of the last little bubbles, he almost presses the nose against the glass peering at the shot.  
Defeated you roll your head to the side. You wish the kid was stupid, you want this not to be real, and you hope John follows his series of unrealistic actions and knows what he’s doing. 

Surprise surprise! He doesn't. Or maybe he does and it's just this giant, prehistoric syringe that lets some good training go to waste. You can feel the needle enter the sinewy muscle tissue around the cut, sharp but not sharp enough to lessen the pressure needed to bury the pin in your flesh. The wound is swollen red and you bite your tongue in an effort not to scream. From what you could see the needle wasn't long but it sure feels like it now. FUCK! It hurts!  
You are sure that's the start of an infection. You’d probably need antibiotics but you doubt the kid has any. Even if he had, if he wanted you to take any, he'd have given them to you. 

It's a matter of seconds before the pain starts to fade and you slowly unclench your jaw. The second injection is a lot easier to endure and despite everything you are proud you didn't make a noise. For a while you just lie there and let the pain dissipate while you listen to the kid rummaging through the briefcase, the dresser, and move through the room like a weasel on crack. Haha. Weasel on crack. 

You wonder what he gave you. You slowly start to feel uncharacteristically happy and light. A little tired maybe and... Fuck... don’t drift off! Don't let yourself be lulled in this. … Lulling. Haha. Funny word. You should say that out loud. 10 times. Fast. PFFF ... Oh god, he drugged you. Shouldn't it take longer to affect you when injected in muscle than when going directly in your blood? What the fuck was that- what dosage, what... 

You chuckle involuntarily and hum the first little tune that comes to your mind. You are still aware enough to know this is bad, but somehow you care so much less it's scary. Except you aren't truly alarmed. Ah... OK, you have it on the tip of your tongue. The name of what he gave you the- the- thing that... that was... in the second injection and... tired.

You are barely aware that John crawls back up on the bed and this time he straddles your waist for easier access. He puts a rather new looking I-pod on your chest and carefully puts the earplugs in your ears. There is no music yet but you are kind of curious what kind of mu- … mu... haha mew. Meow... Music. What kind of music the little guy listens to. 

You don't really notice that that's not the kind of thing a kid would normally own. You are just in the mood to assume it's his and smile at him. He stops in mid-motion for a second before he smiles back. Unsure and a little disturbed. What's wrong?

“Hey Dave? Don't take that personally, but I have to return to Bro now, he is just the better candidate since he doesn't know anything yet. I'd like to stay too, but I don't have enough time to do things slowly. OK?”  
You understand nothing. Nada. But that's OK. You just nod and he looks a bit more bitter than you think he should. You basically said yes. Yes is a good thing.  
“Well then, Bro needs his juice.” he sighs.

Before you can ponder further on it the tape is back on your mouth, but all you can do is lazily twitch your head away. Shortly after that the sack comes on again. Okay. So things are going to happen here. Things you are not supposed to hear or see or be able to inform others about. Don’t see, don' talk, don't hear. Like those three wise monkeys. It's a chinese thing you guess but you're not sure. Heh. Monkeys. Monkeys are freaking creepy.

You are about to doze off when a song starts to play in what you think must be close to full volume. You recognize the intro immediately. God, that's torture! Seriously kid, 'Wham!'?? If you were capable of thinking straight right now you'd probably have appreciated that he picked something so ironically fitting. “Wake me up before you go go”. In your current state of mind it's just horrible noise that keeps you from getting some shuteye though. It's torture.

You feel his hand on your shoulder, carefully patting you a few times before he climbs back off you and as soon as he slides off the mattress you have nothing left. You have no idea whether you are alone or not or what is happening around you. 

The song plays on repeat for what you assume is at least an hour before you can't take it anymore and your brain just kind of shuts down. You can't think with that ear deafening noise- the shrill music and all. But you can't sleep either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo~ yeah. I bet you have a lot of questions if you made it this far. But starting from the next chap you'll get some answers. I promise there will be SOME answers. Haha. Hah... 
> 
> Also: I'm so happy that this get's so many nice comments! I love you all! So fucking much!
> 
> Tell me if there's something you'd like to see more or less of and I'll consider it! ;D Haha.


	4. Stop and think.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to where we left Bro.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it wasn't clear: The Dave Chap happens in between where John leaves to get Bro a drink and when he returns with the juicebox. Everthing after that happens after he left Dave with the earplugs in.  
> In this chap I'll kick up the notch just a little. I'll slowly get more extreme now. I mean, please don't expect this to be tame. At least I hope it's not. I'm trying to beshocking here, dun laugh °_° ...
> 
> Also, :D HEY. Missed you guys! How ya doing? I had a big pause and I hope I'll update my fanfictions a lil more regularly now. Damn I hope so damn bad. BTW on request I'll draw stuff for this AU like for the "THTFY" and "Always You" link to my artblog in the notes on the bottom.
> 
> As always big big biiiiig thanks to my lovely Beta CaliginousCandy. °3° Cal you are wonderful! MWA!

“OK, why the fuck are ya the one cryin' now? I'm the one who's all tied up and forced to make himself look like a fuckin' pedophile so he wouldn't wet his own pants. I should be the one cryin'!” You scoff and wish John would be close enough for you to kick him. He was smart enough to throw himself on the floor a few feet away from you though, lying on his stomach and quietly sobbing. At least he was nice enough to tuck you back in before he decided to throw himself a pity party. Your urge to hurt the kid grows steadily.

Never in your whole life have you felt this dirty, and hell, you did more than enough naughty, kinky shit to make that really mean something. You're mad, you feel nasty, and on top of that you're starting to get tired now that you don't have to piss anymore. You've been successfully fighting the feeling for god knows how many hours but you really have to hold back not to yawn. Letting the kid know you might be falling asleep soon is probably not a good idea.

“I'm not crying," he snivels and you roll your eyes.  
“Well then, yer imitatin' it really well.”  
“Shut up! Leave me alone!”  
“Pffft. OK, then. I'll be upstairs takin' a shower. Maybe I'll even make us some sandwiches and- oh, wait. I can't leave. I'M STILL TIED UP.  
“You are horrible!”  
“Look who's talkin'.”  
“Show some sympathy!”  
“I'm surprised a kid like ya even knows what that is.”  
"Shut up, I had to touch an old man's private place. My life is practically over! I'm a boy of easy virtue now." He whines and kicks his legs in frustration.

You crook your eyebrow at him. He didn't really just say that, did he? An old man's private place... For a moment, you feel slightly insulted before a smirk creeps up your features and you snort.

“Private place?”  
“You know what I mean!”  
“What the fuck kid, really? Private place? Can't ya just say it?”  
“What? You want me to say wee-wee or some shit like that? You are one skeevy, old geezer. That was SO disgusting. _Man parts_ are disgusting. And now _I feel_ disgusting. All virtue is gone, Bro. It's gone, and it will never come back.” He rolls onto his side to curl in on himself. He sounds so rancorous, yet so horrified. When  he manages to compose himself enough to sit up and shoot you a dramatic teary eyed look over his shoulder, you are done for.

You can't help but double over in a wave laughter. Well, as far as you can hanging in the ropes and all. Shit. It's all so fucked up and terrible and degrading! But the kid is hilarious.

Kidnapping people, tying them up in a basement, showcasing blood stained torture instruments, probably even working for a psychopathic murderer. And now he sits on the floor and cries over dicks. Your dick specifically. How can you not laugh? The absurdity of it gets to you. Or maybe you're slowly starting to lose your mind.

You're laughing hard enough to feel the heat rise to your face and tears start to prick in your eyes, so it takes you a minute to realize that John actually turned around to face you and his head is a bright, angry pink. Brows furrowed and lips pressed into a thin line. He's fuming and you can't help it; that only makes it funnier. You just started to calm down a little but you only need to see his embarrassed, angry, little face and remember his literally dick induced rage and the pattern repeats itself.

You can't stop the laughter bubbling up your throat. You try twice before you guffaw hard enough you worry you might actually choke to death before whoever is in charge here gets a chance to get to whatever the fuck the final plan is. John is just standing there and stares at you with what, even through your blurry vision, can be clearly recognized as disgust. You're actually a little proud of that.

“Are you done yet?” he snaps at you and you really try hard to contain it but you can't.  
“N-n- ehehehehee ahaha not- not yet-Pff-” you manage to snicker in between convulsions of laughter.  
“You look really pleased with yourself you know that??” He hisses and you think you see his lip twitch upward. Yup. Definitely disgust. Ain't the little pest precious.

You try and shrug at him but it probably goes under in the tremors of conniption that shake your body. Hoho, just look at him; he's standing up taller, trying to appear imperious, puffing his slim chest out, balling his tiny fists and all, and the laughter just spurts out of you again. It's still hard to believe that this kid sealed your final deal.  
All you want is to kick him in the sassy, little snout. Serves him right! Fuck pleasing the little sucker! You're through with that! Adios, nice uncle Bro! You're pretty certain you're not getting out of here. Not alive at least. The longer you think about it the surer you get. And if you have to go without a good fight and dignity, then at least you'll do it having fun. Or making fun of him. Preferably both.

You slowly calm down your breathing only interrupted by small bursts of chuckling while John taps his foot on the floor. Oh, he doesn't look happy at all, haha! Looks good on him. He should keep it that way.

“Is that a thing that usually makes you this happy? Making kids touch your naughty bits?” He growls and you know he wants to sound dangerous but you just grin because he really seems to have a problem with words describing genitalia. Considering your situation, it's pretty ridiculous.  
“Ya figured me out kid. I'm all about having toddlers fumble their way through my pants. Once you get to my age you'll understand. It's the most humorous activity a man can indulge in. Bony, ice-cold fingers on my dick, that's the real deal. You wouldn't believe how -KSH!” you snort and barely choke the laugh attack down this time but John is boiling over with rage already. Uh-oh! Gnome alarm!

“Do you think that's funny?!” He squeaks and he clearly has trouble speaking evenly. Looks like that's a real sore spot for him.  
“Of course not!” You gasp in fake offense and when his mouth falls comically wide open while his brows only pull even tighter together you can barely hold a straight face. It's really not that funny but somehow it is.  
“Skeevy, old man!” He shouts and wow, will somebody look at all this serious rage displayed here? Nostrils flared, fists balled by his sides, and he is so tense. You're sure if you gave him a shove now he'd fall like a log! You hold your poker face but when he fills the cliché and stomps his foot on the concrete repeatedly it sends you straight into another giggling fit, hissed through your teeth but giggling none the less and your face starts to feel really hot.

“It's not-! IT'S NOT FUNNY!!” He shouts and when you just continue to snort and snicker like some imbecile, he actually has a little childish screaming fit. Not even words, just shrill, angry noise with a lot of stomping and punching the air. Which is funny like- the first ten seconds. Ten seconds before the light in the basement starts to flicker stronger than it already does and you can practically hear the bulbs over your head hum with the strain. What the...

You remember the light bulb that flickered over your head until not long ago and that is now little splinters on the floor and maybe a few still stuck in your hair. Logically you know the wiring is probably shit in here but- No. That- It can't- You quickly look around and you think the bulb second closest to the kid flickers the strongest. What the fuck!

“Hey! Hey, calm down, kid! I didn't mean it like that and ya know it.” That can't be. No. You must be pretty far gone already to come to think about-  
“You did! You laughed at me like I am- WHATEVER!”  
“Nah, I didn't. I was jus' laughin' about the absurdity of it all. Altogether, kid.”  
“Liar!” He shouts and holy shit the two bulbs closest to him are flickering dangerously and with such speed that you are surprised he doesn't seem to notice it. He is completely fixated on you. You suck in a deep breath. What kind of games are they playing here?  
“Oh c'mon yer a big boy, John, yer smart. How am I in any position to make fun of ya? Hm?” The sweat on your neck feels cold on your heated skin and you feel something heavy in your stomach despite it being painfully empty. John pouts and even though he still looks angry he seems to have calmed. The flickering of the light returns to normal except for a few bulbs in the far corner.  
“It's not funny. I didn't like that!”  
“Right. Ya didn't.”  
“You know it's just not funny! I did that for you, even though I didn't want to and it's weird and creepy and wrong and disgusting and you just make fun of me! Nobody should be forced to touch someone elses p- private place that's- … PRIVATE.”  
“Well, just sayin' but maybe you should start to think of a way to allow me to open my own pants then."

The moment John's eyes go wide, revealing a shockingly dark blue detectable even from this distance, you know that he knows you have a point. He doesn't want you to piss himself, maybe the plan is to keep you alive for longer. Obviously, interacting with you in a rather clean setting is more convenient to them, too. Oh, fuck. You have a point! You don't notice how one of the bulbs in the far corner silently burns out.

“I mean, that most certainly wasn't the last time nature called.”  
“I- I know that!” Yeah. No. He didn't think of that either. It's written all over his grumpy, now slightly insecure, pale face. He starts to pace around a bit  ruffling his hair every now and then. He's probably thinking really hard and honestly you're just waiting for him to sit down somewhere and do the Pooh thing. That's good. You'd really like to get a solution for that problem that didn't require Johns hands anywhere near your loins. Shit, it's damn hard to resist the urge to just-  
“Hey, we can make it a bet? How long before John has to touch my dick again? Oh snap! What if I have to take a shit?” He swirls around facing you in horror.  
“EW! Can you not!?” His face twists up almost comically so that his eyes get squinted and his tongue is sticking half out between his curling lips. How could he not have thought about that yet? How can it be that he is prepared for everything but for THAT? It might be that whoever controls the kid gets a kick out of this perverted play and it's not even entirely his fault. He IS still a kid and the longer you interact with him, the more obvious it becomes that this is not his idea, not his game, not what he wants. And maybe you can use that against him.  
“I dunno kid, can I? Dun forget I'm a skeevy, old man. Unpredictable intestines. Who really knows what's going on in there? Could happen any moment, ya know?” You grin even though now you start to feel slightly nervous. Reverse psychology didn't work with the kid so far but until just now you didn't have such a great lever.  
The look he's giving you is one of pure horror. The angry pink dominating his face pales immediately just at the thought.  
“Wouldn't it be easier on ya to just let me use a bath-”  
“NO! You'll totally screw me over the first chance you get!”  
“Aw, c'mon. That's what ya think of me?” You tip your head to one side and give him the puppy dog eyes.  
“Yes!”  
“Man, I'm hurt.” You huff in fake disappointment and let your shoulders and head hang low.  
“You're not!” He immediately switches into a wary stance, ready to launch, as if he expected you to somehow free yourself any moment and do what you'd actually want to do. Suffocate the kid. He has good instincts. And he underestimates the tight rope restraining you.

The fuck. Somehow your encounters with the nasty midget seem to become an endless up and down of emotions. It's constant stress on you. How many hours have you been here already? It could have been days. If your feeling is right, it should be about 45 hours. You have no point of reference for that though. The constantly flickering light gave you a headache not long after you first woke up and you really have to fight not to fall asleep. The last thing you should do in a situation like this is fall asleep.

You're tired though and to help you relax you tried to kneel back down some time ago but after a while it slowly started to hurt your shoulders, back, and, of course, your knees more than standing so you had to get back up. Should you fall asleep while standing, you risk dropping to your knees in your sleep or dislocating a shoulder. Or worse. Should you fall asleep... god knows what will happen to you. Yes. You're under constant stress. He can't really hold you responsible for that laugh attack or anything you do.

As strange as it is, you seem to lose more and more self control every hour. You are aware that the urge to fight becomes stronger and since you can't oppose him in any physical way you quickly find yourself instinctively becoming more sarcastic and snappy in an effort to just pay something back! You know it's damn stupid and that if you just keep playing nice uncle Bro you might eventually reach your goal, but you don't know how much time you have and you're becoming anxious which results in an unhealthy impatience. And instincts are a powerful thing.

“You know, I'm startin' to get the feelin' yer doin' that on purpose kid.” You sneer a remark and he stops in his pacing to look at you. You probably interrupted his train of thought.  
“... What?” For a second, he looks at you out of big and innocent bright blue eyes before they slowly start to narrow as they take your sight in.  
“Well, not lettin' me take a piss myself and shit, ya been tryin' to get into my pants from the start, haven't ya? Forcin' others to do the do in front of you, that's a hobby of yers, right?” You don't even know what you're trying to achieve here, really. Probably still desperately pushing the reverse psychology button. Maybe provoke him a little more and make it seem like he'll give in to prove you wrong? God, you have no idea anymore.

The kid gasps for air though and points a finger at you. His whole arm is trembling.  
"I'm warning you! Not one more word out of you!" Okay, he's angry again. That's not necessarily bad though. You just need to push him slowly. You think. How does slowly work again. Fuck. Just- Push.  
"If ya don't figure somethin' out to let me take a piss by myself fast I'll just have to assume yer the skeevy one who's into old men's cocks. Ain'tcha?"  
There is an ice cold silence in the room for a moment. John's mouth opens and closes a few times in the best fish-on-the-pier manner, he has trouble getting whatever is obviously stuck in his throat out and into your face. You shocked him more than you thought. What were you thinking? That's not slowly! Hell!  
You see the kid taking a deep breath as in slow motion and you only get to think 'oh fuck'  before a splitting scream hitss your ears. Again he just wordlessly screams and stomps his feet and before you can process it he runs up the stairs yelling back down at you. "Enjoy your brothers screams!"

“What.” Everything falls out of your face. Oh sweet J-... no. No, you didn't just- what have you done? What have you DONE? How could you forget that- your misbehavior... You don't hear him close the door. On the contrary it grates over the rough concrete floor as he seems to open it even wider. Your throat feels dry and you feel a lump forming in it that you just can't swallow.

“JOHN??” You yell up, straining against your fetters to get a better view of the door but you still don't see it. Just the staircase. You receive no reaction.  
“YER JOKING RIGHT? YA KNOW I WAS ONLY MAKIN' A LITTLE FUN! I'M SORRY, KID! REALLY!! YOU KNOW I WOULDN'T THINK LIKE THAT, REMEMBER? I'M NOT EVEN IN THE POSITION TO- to- ...” you start to panic. That's not going to happen is it? It's- please God, Allah, Buddha, Rah, Zeus, Satan, whoever is willing to listen! Anyone!  
“HEY!!” You roar and you can hear him walk past the door a few times, he's talking to someone again.

“-continues I'll be forced to dispose of them and I really had such high hopes! Neither of them has any respect for-” they walk out of earshot and if you didn't take a piss twenty minutes ago you'd definitely be wetting your pants now. It's only a minute before they walk past the door again.  
“-out of time soon enough, and I know the manual says to wait and not force it and I'd do that if we just had the time! Do you-” he must have been joking. See? He's just blowing off steam to whoever he is walking around with right? You try not to think about the reason the door is this wide open. He won't- He wouldn't- Not Dave. You want to yell up again but you just can't seem to find your voice.  
“-benefits from that? We will all die and- this HAS to work! I'll make it work! Yeah, give me that I'll need that! I don't want to-” The calm determination in the kid's voice is like a punch in the gut. It's going to be all right. You didn't... You didn't fuck up right? This is not...  
“-kill him. There is not enough time to catch someone else and I know if this doesn't work that's the end for me too! If I have-”  
“KID, PLEASE! KID- JOHN! DON'T! I'M SORRY I AM SORRY! PLEASE! JOHN COME BACK! I BEG YA I- COME ON I'LL DO ANYTHING! PLEASE!!!” The footsteps disappear and even after a minute they don't return.

For a few minutes, there's nothing but eerie silence hanging heavy in the air. You have goosebumps all over, even though you're sweating like crazy and a strange mixture of hot and cold floods through you. They won't. Not about something stupid like that. You just tried to- oh god. No. No. No, no, nonononono- your breath hitches and you fight your restrains yet again, clenching your teeth. The skin in the areas that are in contact with the rough rope chafed off a while ago.

They are just trying their mind games on you, psychological torture to get you to behave. Like with the lights. You know how it works. You did that to scare the crap out of Dave on Halloween once. He nearly shat himself. It's not even that difficult. This is just mind games. Just that. This is punishment for you. Dave did nothing to-

A horrible cry pierces the silence, muffled by the distance it travels but loud enough for you to recognize the voice immediately.

Dave.

For a split second you feel relieved to know he's alive. He's alive. You can hear him shout something, panicked and angry, but you can't make out the words and they are cut short by an even louder scream.

“DAVE! Oh my fucking... DAVE!” you throw yourself against the fetters again, causing an especially unpleasant burn on your biceps, wrists, and elbows, kicking against the support beam in a futile attempt to free yourself. You have no idea what you're doing. It won't work and you know that. You're pretty sure nobody can hear you even if you scream your lungs out. But you can't just do nothing. No. Actually, that's the only option they left you with. To stand there and listen.

The next outcry doubles the last on volume, enough to make you cringe and you wrench your eyes shut, pressing your chin against your chest. This isn't happening. This isn't- Another scream, and another and another, there is no pause in between anymore. He is definitely crying and loud enough for you to make out part of what he's saying.

Angry cursing and threats. Hysteric questions of why and what is happening. Desperate pleading for mercy to just stop. Begging for help. Frantic promises concerning every subject he can think of in his panic, trying to offer something, anything to make it stop.

He's screaming it all out too fast and high pitched in between the anguished cries he can't have much time to breath in between. He's scared. Scared for his life and so are you. You have no idea what they are doing to him. You don't want to know, you just want it to stop! They can't do this! He did nothing to deserve that! At least you think so but- no! He's a smart kid , other than to you, he wouldn't just do bullshit like that!

You tug hard on the ropes and it cuts deep in your arms.It burns and you yell in frustration, call Dave's name again over and over, scream your lungs out as you fight, knowing it'll be a fruitless effort but you can't just stand here! Within minutes, you feel something hot run down your hands. Wet and slow and disgusting and you know the pain is nothing compared to what they are putting Dave through. You only notice your tears when you sink to your knees and see the little dark wet spots on the concrete before you. You breath so rapid, you might already be hyperventilating.

“NO! NO, NO, FUCK NOOO-AHHHHHHHH! FUCK! SHIT! NO, PLEASE! BRO! BROOOO-AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH AHAhaha... HH!” It's a horrifying wail of pain and it just doesn't stop. It keeps going until his voice breaks. He is at his wits end. They are going to kill him and you know it. They'll kill him over something so stupid. It's your fault. You practically killed him. You killed your little brother.  
“DAVE! DAVE I'M HERE! H- HANG IN THERE!” You don't know what else you can do. If you can just prove to him that you are alive, that he's not completely alone here! Give him something to hang on to however small it is! You can't do anything else, you can't do more for him! You can't! YOU CAN'T!

You scream his name again but he doesn't answer you. He doesn't call for you anymore. Slowly, very slowly the helplessness is sinking into every corner of your soul. You can't do anything. It will stop when it stops.

 

Dave is still screaming. Hoarse but still clearly audible. You can't understand his pleading anymore it's just too quiet and most likely only garbled gibberish again. How long has this been going on? Feels like minutes but realistically you know it's probably more something like an hour. You don't care. You can't cry anymore and just hang there, gasping shallow, wrecked breaths and try to block the noise out. All you want is for Dave to pass out soon. To stop screaming. To just stop and be quiet. To let it be over.

If they want to kill him they should just do it. You are pretty sure that Dave reached a point where he is thinking the same. This is not just inhumane; it is insanity. If you could, you'd ram a sharp object into your ears, tearing up the eardrums, anything to make the screams and the crying stop.

And you are so damn tired. And not just physically. You came up with so many things they could be doing to Dave now. You came up with so many moments where you failed as a big brother. You came up with so many ways to kill the little spitfuck should you get the chance. You came up with so many reasons they should be torturing you and not him.  
You don't want to be Dave right now.

And the guilt is eating you up. There is a particularly agonizing cry and you wince. You don't even try to cover up for the dry sob. In the end what does your dignity or your cool help? How could anyone remain cool while hearing the only person they cared for beg to be killed for what could be hours. You don't even find the strength in you to grit your teeth or burn in rage. Just stop the crying, somebody close the door, or just deafen you or anything that will stop you from hearing his voice.

 

There have been pauses in between the screaming. They seem to let him rest for a few minutes every now and then now. But you can't really hear much of Dave anymore. Seems like hours have passed. You start to think it will never stop.

For however short your life might be from now, you know you won't get his bawling out of your head. The pain, the horror, the helplessness. And you did this to him. Never will you be able to forget this. You already passed out twice, you don't know for how long, probably only a minute but who can really tell. You jerked awake every time.

As soon as you close your eyes, you'd see Dave chained to a chair or hanging from the ceiling, toes just barely touching the ground. No matter what position he is in though, there is always a puddle of his own blood beneath him. His body mutilated beyond recognition; deep gashes through his flesh, burned black in various places, and every time there is this hole between his ribs that has been closed with duct tape. There is not much that reminds you of him anymore except for his height and his haircut. Even when awake you can still hear his painfully rattling breath as his lungs slowly fill with blood while he drowns, too weak to even cough.  
In the end his head would jerk up and you stare into empty bloody eye sockets.

That's when snap out of your doze immediately, normally triggered by another especially loud cry of your little brother. God. All the screaming. And all that because you just couldn't shut up, because you had to run your fucking mouth like that. Because you didn't want to shit your pants and that absolutely wasn't worth it. It wasn't worth it, it's not worth it at all.

Next time you see John, you'll just do what he wants, whatever he wants. You will not resist as long as he will give Dave some peace and help him. Oh god... please. Please someone help him... You'll do everything. Everything... Stop...

 

Something is pressed on your mouth and you groggily open your eyes just in time to see something you probably shouldn't have seen before the black bag get's pulled over your head again. Was that- was that a woman?

You try to jump up on your feet but you seem to have knelt for too long and the pain that shoots through your legs is dull and crippling. You feel numb. The muffled groan that escapes you is followed by a gasp that isn't yours. She's right in front of you, you can hear her breathing, feel it cold against sweat slicked skin. Maybe a foot away. And you can't say anything. You make another noise and you pick up the noise of her jumping to her feet and running up the stairs. Fuck.

When... when did you fall asleep you don't quite remember... DAVE! Your head twitches in all directions as you perk your ears but you hear nothing. Nothing. You hear nothing!! It's way too quiet! A cold shudder runs up your spine into your skull, coming to rest under your skull cap with a slight prickling. You're feeling so sick!

There could be so many reasons for this silence. You are an idiot. How could you think- oh please let him be alive. Please. You huff a few rushed breaths through your nose and slowly push yourself up the support beam, legs are shaking more than you thought they would. How long were you out?

Slowly you start to hit your head against the wood in your back, the little thudding noise creates a good rhythm and the little bursts of pain pull you back into reality. Every time a little harder. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! You knew you were in a horrible situation but you weren't quite able to understand just how horrible. You remember this one scene from 'Hostel' and shiver. No. No, you can't think too deep into that. If you go into that now, you'll panic and stop thinking rationally. Dave needs you sane now. You need to draw attention away from him. Find out how he's holding up.

What you've done.

You need to think about something else, not traumatize yourself further. Concentrate on doing something useful... Yes.

That woman. It was only a second and the picture was a little hazy because your eyes didn't focus well in the dim flickering light right after you woke up. Seems a few more of the light bulbs burned out while you napped. Anyway you are almost certain it was a young woman. If you caught that right she had thick knobby scars over her face and one of her eyes seemed to be white, lacking an iris and a pupil.

There is a good possibility that this is the person the kid talks to. She seems too insecure to be the puppeteer behind this fucked up house of terror show. Probably just another puppet. But other than John, she seems vulnerable. Scared. Unwilling. And she has close contact with the kid...

Maybe you can get through to her, get information. Even if you can't use it, you just need to know for yourself. You need to know why. And more importantly, if you're lucky, maybe you can get her to look after Dave. Force her to see him as a human being. Help him, ease his pain. Whatever. Anything's fine.

You know you can't get through to the kid. He's young and so brainwashed already that you won't be able to pull him on your side before they decide to get rid of you. All that’s left to do is submit and make sure Dave doesn't have to suffer more than necessary.  
Your eyes burn but no tears blur your vision. You're not sure if you're even still hydrated enough for that to happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I know it's a little rocky and the pacing is off at times but I couldn't do it any better and I excuse myself by saying Bro is pretty out of it already. Think yourself in his situation and then imagine you're big guy who's very proud and full of himself and usually has things go his way and have a kid crash your car into shit and tie you up in a basement without food and minimal fluids to keep haldway hydrated and so on. That takes a toll on you. I wouldn't be a very coherent narrator in his situation haha! xD Well, as this chap proves I'm already bad enough without being in his situation. Dumb face-saver, not a real excuse. >_>
> 
> Anyway! :D I hope you liked it and I'd be happy about your opinion as long as it's not offensive! 
> 
>  
> 
> IF YOU HAVE QUESTIONS I'LL ANSWER THEM WITH SELFMADE DOODLES ON MY ARTBLOG! :D http://gnacat-draws-stuff.tumblr.com/  
> BTW I'll do that for all my fanfictions now. Answer questions with doodles of the characters and such. I'll be waiting for your questions!  
> On request I'll draw character sheets for the chars of this AU. For my bodytype and height headcanons and such. Did that for "The Hand That Feeds You" already and will upload that soon. (That was 8 characters and 5 animals... haha. Bluh.)


	5. Is that fear?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What John believes with all his might.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally an update! I am more than sorry that his took so long but I lacked motivation and was busy but I'm fucking curious to see what you think about this chapter! Thinking about the nice comments I might get really helped getting my lazy ass up and over my writers block so you better ENJOY! :D Otherwise I'll have suffered for nothing!
> 
> Also thanks for proofreading to my dear Beta CaliginousCandy. You are fucking rad, Cal!

“It is work,” you admit while tightly knotting another thick black twine to close the now even deeper cut in Dave’s leg. Torturing someone like that for almost seven hours is really hard work and exhausting as fuck. You didn't expect that. The longest you ever did that before Dave was one hour and a little, you think.  
After two hours with Dave, you kind of started to take breaks to let you and him catch a breath. You both desperately needed it and now that you are coming down from that high, you have no idea what to say to him. It's probably better not to say anything.  
If he is still able to think at all, he probably knows what is going to happen to him from here on out and there is nothing you can say or do to make him feel better about it you guess. It's kind of hard to admit but now that you're patching him up you notice that despite saying you wouldn't you _are_ kind of attached to him. But in the end this is what you decided on. It's your own will.

You'll use Bro.

If you had the time you would probably do it the other way around. You had such a nice conversation with Dave in the car. He is a funny guy and he likes movies and he seems to be smart and he really tried to entertain you. And maybe, you think, maybe he had fun with you too. Dave is a good choice. The manual says it's important to pick someone you think you can connect with and who can connect with you.  
They are both good people. Dave is more similar to yourself you guess. Bro is more- It's hard to describe, you wouldn't say fatherly but he can make you feel like a little kid. You are not a kid. You are _not_. You connect better with Dave so if you had the time he would be the logical choice for your first, but since you are forced to rush you'll have to bend the rules a bit. Dave is injured and he ate that damn candy bar, this peanut-y death sentence. If you had a few more days, just a little longer you'd definitely use Dave first. But you don't know if you have a week or just an hour left and every minute going by without preparing them to die feels like a waste of time already.

For now Bro is just the safer option. You just hope you broke him enough to agree to your terms. Okay, he's old, but he looks fit and seems healthy and responsible. Bro is a good choice. A very good choice. You will kill him first. After you did this he should be a lot more docile and honest. He won't be mean to you, though not for the reasons you would like. If only you had time to make them see...

You rub your forearm over your face to get rid of that moist, icky feeling. The air is so stuffy in here and you can't open the window in this room. You don't have the time to drift off to dreamland; you have to concentrate on stitching Dave up, cleaning the wounds, and making sure he doesn't suffer too much. He might not be chosen but that doesn't mean you want him die. Not yet. And even though that might not be possible, you would like for it to come as a surprise to him. To have hope till the very end. The journal says no living thing shall die by your hand without hope in its heart.  
Dave is now the second person that made you feel the reason behind this.

You huff and knot another stitch tight over the flesh. You can feel the small drops of sweat on your forehead gathering on the tip of your nose and chin, ready to fall if you don't rub them away. You are even a little out of breath and damn are you tired and it's so hard to concentrate on stitching everything up neatly. At least he's drifting in and out of unconsciousness and is very much unable to struggle, so you should be done soon enough.  
It was quite the hassle to keep him screaming for so long. It probably would have done the trick if you would have stopped halfway but considering what's on the line you'd rather be safe than sorry. And well, it _IS_ supposed to break Bro who is still stewing in the basement. You need him to make this decision out of his own free will and to not regret it. That's the rules. You are altering the rule for motivations but you can't stick to all of them and expect it to make it in record time.

A sudden noise from outside in the corridor interrupts your thoughts and you look up from Dave's leg, effectively shoving the rounded needle you're using to sew his cut into your finger and you curse. Said finger lands immediately in your mouth and you suck weakly on it. She probably just walked by on her way to god knows where. Maybe she wants to check on Bro. Maybe she's preparing to go out. Maybe she's just nervous and is running up and down the corridor. You perk your ears but Dave's irregular breathing is still the only noise in the room and so you return to your work.

Sewing someone up is harder than it looks. Especially when you are not good with filigree work. Slightly shaky hands and a bunch of nerves like yours coupled with an annoying amount of impatience just don't help with that. The fact that Dave doesn't move anymore does though.

You didn't know somebody could faint that often in a row. Like, yeah being tortured probably hurt a lot but Dave kind of acted like a baby about this. Tsch. You didn't even break a bone or poke holes into his gut or chest or anything.  
Even though you totally could have!  
You had enough practice on people that failed as candidates for the ritual. You know how to cause pain and how to kill! But you obviously didn't go for anything vital and he freaked out about it anyway! You mean, okay that was the purpose of the whole thing, but still. You can't help but roll your eyes as you sigh. At least you got him to scream really loud.

Admittedly, you went a little overboard after a while and started experimenting, but nobody can blame you for that. For all you know it's in your nature, you read it in that book! You are made to pick apart and to eat and some other things that unfortunately are unreadable due to smeared ink. So that's what you'll do. It's easy to forget that there is someone in that pile of struggling firm meat when you only concentrate on one part at a time. It is so very easy once you get lost in it.  
This is not the first time you’ve done this. You are not scared anymore. You don't flinch. You don't cry. And above all you don't throw up. You may not look like it but you are one of the grownups. You know that. You are not a child. You are not. You aren't. You know that. You know that.

Carefully, you stroke your fingers over a few of the tight, clumsy stitches. You tried to do it neatly and you think you are much better at it now than you were a month ago but it still doesn't look like the examples in the manual.

You don't notice your mouth watering before you drool. Quickly you rub it away with the heel of your hand but you can't quite take your eyes from his leg. Covered in thin blond hair and his skin is really white, much like yours. It comes out all the more with the bright contrast of the thin red smears of blood you didn't wipe away completely. The leg looks a little surreal like it is not actually attached to him because his arms and face are so tan. It kind of matches his sunglasses marks. You can't help but smile fondly for a moment as your fingers trace over a thin old scar. You like him. Maybe you decided you will use Bro first because you like Dave more than you should like something that hasn't passed the ritual. Because you are scared of failing again and because you are scared of being alone and of the punishment for failing and you want to spend more time with him just in case, just in case...

….

You can't kill Dave. Not before Bro goes through the ritual. If Bro can't accept it, Dave will be your last chance. If neither of them makes it-

You swallow thickly and divert your gaze. Staring at that long nice cut, smelling the blood and sweat and everything... You are just so damn hungry. You feel weak and tired and your stomach empty and you just don't want to remember what you did to Dave anymore because that'll only make the feeling worse. Now that he is all motionless and limp, it feels weird. He looks kind of dead, like... food. You almost miss the commotion; the grunts and screams, the rapid breathing, the way he bucked against the restraints trying to get away from you. The way he is now, it feels... lonely.

Again, you rub your index over the knots of the tight stitches, tight enough to cause the skin to dent in a little.  
Technically you know that what you are doing is wrong. You knew that even though you can't remember much else from before you woke up here and even if not you watch enough TV to understand that. It's wrong to kill other humans and it's equally wrong to torture them. It's illegal and you are kind of the bad guy here. That's how they see it right now. But if they knew why you did it they'd surely understand. And if it was really all that wrong, then it wouldn't be so easy to do, right?

Lost in thought and with warm damp skin under your fingers, your mind drifts into the not so distant memory. You started Dave's torture by prodding his skin with one of the syringes in various places then stuck it in the cut in his leg, deeper. You tried to pierce through till you met bone to scratch over  with the tip of the needle. Then you pulled his stitches. First with a nail clipper but that quickly proved too time consuming with not enough results. You needed him to scream so you abandoned the tool in favor of working with your fingers; pulling on the ends of a black thread sticking out on top then pushing a finger into the hot swollen flesh of the cut, worming it under the stitch and pulling it up until the hot, moist folds hug your digit so tight that the stitch pops out, the string rips through the flesh and skin and the shout that erupted from Dave as he almost jumped and desperately fought his restraints while a new surge of blood streamed down the round muscle of his calf made your mouth water.

You feel sick remembering it. By all means you don't really know how you were able to do all that but you find whenever you must do something horrible something else in you takes over. And you let it.

You pulled the last two with your teeth, way overeager you licked over the red of the leaking, clean cut edges of the cut before dipping your tongue in the hot pulsing confines of his flesh tasting dried blood, scab, and the first traces of what is soon to become mucopus. Sour, slimy, biting on your tongue, you know the taste. You learned to appreciate it over the last 2 months.  
You know the taste, you know the taste, you know it. You were so hungry.... You are so hungry. When was the last time you ate something?

Instinct took over for a while after that. You hurriedly buried your teeth in the skin, bit a small piece a really small piece out of the edge of the cut. The deafening scream didn't reach you, his struggles didn't shake you. Dry skin, sinewy muscle, the iron-y smell, and taste of blood on your tongue. It mixed with your spit and thickly dripped down your chin as you chewed. You didn't savor the taste, frankly it upsets your stomach but at the same time it calms you. The taste foreshadows this nice feeling of being full so you just hastily gulped it down. Dave fought you so hard yet you weren't worried about him actually freeing himself at all; the restraints on that bed have held bigger men down already.

You sigh and sit up, staring at the now tightly sewn up cut crossing Dave’s shin. The fringed edges of the little parts you ate are pressed up oddly against the clean straight ones on the other side. You only bit him three times. And only small pieces. But looking at it from a little more distance it suddenly looks like big chunks. You didn't plan on eating him while tormenting Dave but it was so hard to focus around the smell of fresh blood and the noises he made got your stomach rumbling in anticipation.

You read it in the journal, the part you actually _can_ read, and the instructions on how to think about what you do were rather clear. It is normal to not like it. At first. But with practice it will come to you it said. It's good that people’s fear and pain provoke your appetite now. It's good that the smell of blood makes your mouth water, that the sight of flesh has you restless and you can hardly hold back. Even though you always doubted you'd ever get over your initial fear and revulsion, you did. That's a good thing. A good thing. Yes. Yes it is.

Slowly you look up from Dave’s shin and into his empty, spent face. Dried lines of salty white and drool all over his cheeks. Your eyes linger on the dark blue bruises under his fingernails, well, the fingernails he still has and the holes in his hand where you drove the nails between the bones. The hand is still twitching every now and then. Even though you stitched it all up and made sure it was clean, it still twitches. You can't quite imagine why though.

You take one last looks at the patches of skin you reattached to his arm and shoulder. You sincerely doubt he will live long enough for it to grow back and if everything goes as planned, that's okay with you. In the end you didn't really _have_ to make the effort to reattach it but A) you have nothing better to do anyway, and B) when he wakes up and you show him you reattached everything nicely it might give him hope.

“HNG! KCH- AH!” Dave’s whole body stiffens and his back arches of the mattress. You flinch at the sudden movement and stumble backwards. He starts tugging on the restraints, his eyes and mouth wide open. He sucks in a deep breath and holds it. What the fuck is going on!? Shit shit shit!  
“Dave?” You try but he doesn't even notice your presence. He twitches upwards a few more times before the air he fought to hold in his lungs slowly leaves him and he deflates like a balloon in front of you. He's collapsing and for a moment you can't move at all as you watch how it ebbs off into a steady tremor throughout his body while you try to calm yourself down a bit.  
Your heart almost jumped out of your throat. To say it was surprising would be an understatement. A few deep slow breaths later, you approach him again, a little wary and a little confused. You don't want to cause something like that to happen again even though you don't know what triggered it to begin with. When you stand right next to his head you watch his face for a while, his eyes especially. The rapid eye movement behind closed lids is hypnotizing. Might be trauma, shock caused by the torture. Or he's simply caught in a fever dream filled with fear he just can't escape from.  
For a moment you just stand there staring at him. Not thinking. Just taking in the sight of what you have accomplished.  
You suck in a sharp breath through your nose and avert your gaze. You're starting to feel unexpectedly nauseous.

What are you _doing_? Isn't this all kinds of wrong? S-something is wrong with this right? You shouldn't have eaten that- His leg- Dave’s- That- That wasn't right...

You gag and quickly press a hand on your mouth. No. No, you can't that would be a waste. You can't let something go to waste, she would be mad with you. But you want to throw up so bad when you think about for how long you've been eating _that_. You lift your head, fixing your eyes on a dark stain on the ceiling and blink the tears away. You're not a child and you're not going to cry. You're not so weak. You're not a child. You're not a child.

A sob escapes you and your free hand flats over your hollow stomach pressing into the pale, white skin before slowly digging your nails into it and forming a fist. You're hungry. Why can't you eat normal things like people on TV? Why can't you have a normal family like people on TV? Why you? Why not someone else? You don't want to hurt them. You don't want to hurt anyone but you do! You do and it makes you feel hungry and even though that's supposed to be good that doesn't make you feel better at all! This is too hard, you can't you-  
You feel the first hot tears roll down your cheeks and whimper as you lower your head again. It's shameful that you can't hold it in.

The blond still looks like he’s having a shitty dream and you bet he has a fever. You try to concentrate on him and only him. Not on how it is wrong to doubt anything you do or what you'll do soon.

Somehow you have a bad feeling about it. What kind of cruel game is this that makes you kill and struggle and fight so hard just to end up alone and die eventually? You have all the odds stacked up against you and still in the book it says you are fortunate to be granted life and that you will lead a life loved by those that surround you but you don't feel that at all! Things just don't add up and everything is horrible and your throat feels tight and your face hurts and your hands shake and you just-

“I'm sorryyyyyyy...” you bend forward and press your face into the pillow next to Dave’s head muffling the pitiful noises you make. Fuck. Crying is for babies. You know that. You know! Being scared is not good, you can't pay attention when you get nervous and you start to make mistakes and you absolutely can't afford that.

You blindly grope for Dave with both hands until you fist one hand into his T-shirt and after shoving the other in his face before it buries in his hair. You give both a few firm tugs and then just scream and cry out loud into that fucking pillow. Hurting Dave felt good! You didn't want to hurt him but it felt good and you wanted to eat him!

“Help... Hk- hng. I want- I- I want to g-g-g-o ho-hm.” You sniff and try and fail not to choke on your own words. You know it's stupid to ask for help and it doesn't make any sense. Especially since Dave can't hear you anyway and he doesn't understand anything . After this he would probably not want to help you anyway. And even if someone would try to help you there is nothing that can be done about this situation. You either kill or you die. You can only help yourself. That's why you need the ritual.

It's terrifying and disgusting but reading that manual felt good and it made so much sense to you but- it's so hard! You want to live so in extension it means you want all these things to happen, right? If that's so then you shouldn't complain and just be true to your words. Suck it up, John! You should probably grab your stuff right now and march down into the basement and just do it! You know you can and since you can't wait much longer anyway and won't get his consent out of his own free will anyway you'll just threaten to kill Dave and you bet he'll offer his in exchange and-

Oh god how can that work? The moment you loosen the ropes, he'll break your neck, you know it! You don't want to die you don't want to die _YOU DON'T WANT TO DIE!_

No. No, no, no, it will work, it _has_ to work. Bro and Dave are such promising candidates, the best so far! Physically and mentally strong but not unbreakable! If only you were confident that you can get them to agree to undergo the ritual. You should start explaining things to them soon but you just know they'll think you are crazy! And that's okay, they don't have to believe you, they don't have to think you are a good kid. They'll see it's all for the best soon enough and once you have their word and their hearts stop beating then you will be free and you can help her and everyone will be happy!

Now if only you had the time to work this out properly to explain things calmly step by step and get them used to the thought- You are so sure this time you caught some good guys and could make it even if it's not 4 months like in the manual. If only you had 2 weeks then maybe! But like this you have no choice but to rush things.

Nothing goes as you planned it. After you worked your anger off on Dave you spontaneously came up with this way to make Bro do what you want. But by threatening Bro into agreeing to undergo the ritual you will spoil him. Under normal circumstances getting your yes like that would make him an unsuitable candidate but you can't be picky.

You will force a yes out of him you will make him say the words and hope for the best! The worst that can go wrong is that he kills you, but if you don't try at all, you'll die too. You just _have_ to try.

You cry like that for a while longer, tears and snot soaking Dave’s pillow while you tug and pull on him as if that would do either of you any good. You don't know what you hope to achieve by that, you just do it until you feel there are no tears left in you.  
Even after you hear your breath synchronizing with his, your head feels heavy and you continue to rest next to him. He looks hot and sticky and disgusting and you don't care. Now that your little panic attack is over you feel stupid for worrying and just want to be hugged and wrapped into a blanket and climbing with him into the bed is awfully tempting. You could pretend it's all over already and that you are part of his family... And...

You shudder. You snivel and rub your face into the pillow one last time before you reach for the painkillers again. Without the glasses it takes forever to get the dose right and these syringes are hard to handle but you manage somehow. When you did it a few times you start to get a feeling for it and Dave is not awake anyway so there is no real urgency and you can concentrate better.  
The only thing that worries you is that you are down to the last bottle. They will hardly ever agree to willingly let you do the ritual when you can't at least offer them painkillers for the way. If you can't get them to agree you'd have to kill them like the others, except that the time might run out before you can.

The journal advises that candidates should be calm and need to be shown they can trust you and that you have to arrange enough time for this feeling to develop. It says you should schedule at least 4 months. But you don't have 4 months, never had to begin with. And you have only days left at best.  
Everything's falling apart around you. All those people you had to lure here, bring here, drag here, and yet you didn't have one suitable candidate and with each of them that failed, the time you had left dwindled. The time you have to prepare them, the time you need to make them understand, decreases. You cast one last glance at the younger Strider and start to put everything back in its place.

Carefully you close the door behind you even though Dave probably wouldn't even notice if you slammed it shut and leave him alone with his nightmares. You don't think he deserved what he got but after you cried you see it a little clearer and feel a bit more confident about it. The time pressure has you on edge and that's why you were exhausted and cried. Nobody will ever know so it actually never happened right? And you shouldn't worry about your lack of time. You will just have to improvise and take a few risks, you can do that. Following the journal 1:1 would have definitely gotten you killed if you insisted on it. If you did you would still sit here and try to convince that nice older Lady that you are not the antichrist and to just open up to you and die for you. So you ate her. Because you don't have any time to waste.

Not if you want to save her.

You swallow hard and rub your lower arm over your nose. Your face feels a little sore from crying. You blink a few times into the dimly lit corridor. It's almost morning but it’s still dark and you walk towards the light coming through a crack in the door to the living room, careful not to trip on the uneven wooden floor. As you come closer muffled voices from the TV draw you in and all you want to do now is throw yourself on the couch and curl up in the soft blanket and watch TV until you fall asleep. It took you a while to figure out how the old equipment in this place worked but after a while you figured it out and it payed off greatly.

This is not your house. You woke up here a few months ago and then just... stayed. You don't know the owners. When you first opened your eyes, they were already dead. You're not sure but you think she killed them. You'd probably be homeless otherwise. She takes care of you. She taught you everything you know. She gave you the journal and kept you alive. She helped you follow the rules as well as you can and tried to ease the loneliness. Without her you can't survive.

“Liv?” You open the door and squint to spot her but without the glasses it's pretty hard. You do a quick search but she's not here. Why the fuck is the TV on when she's not here? You're running low on fuel for the generator! First she makes you aware of it then she does stuff like that! URGH!  
You stomp your foot and ruffle your hair, mentally scolding her before you remember you fell asleep while watching cartoons and woke up when Bro screamed for you because he needed to take a piss. And then he made all those accusations even though you were so nice and helped him out despite that whole thing being really disgusting and you got so mad...

Right when you came back upstairs you grabbed Liv and went to exact revenge and show him that he can't talk to you like that. Remind him of his position. Up till that point you were set on trying to be nice and that maybe if you are nice to them like the journal suggests they will be nice to you and do what you want but then he got so tactless and mean and ...  
You have no other choice, right? It won't work the nice way and you don't want Liv to go. Without Liv you'll die. Nobody will understand what you have to do and you'll die miserably.

A hand sneaks on your shoulder and you jerk around. Only to see the young woman behind you react equally as surprised. For a second she is stiff, almost as if she doesn't recognize and has forgotten where she is again before you're greeted by a more friendly but mildly disfigured face, deeply scarred in a way that makes her skin look a bit like a patchwork blanket. The difference in the color of the skin patches makes it all the more obvious. Different tones of white and brown and black...

Liv was so pretty and smart and active when you first woke up but now her skin has started to peel off in places and she seems to be in pain a lot of the time and you tried to reattach the skin, sew her back together, you tried but it just won't hold. You're not what she needs and you can't help her the way you are now. You really should perform the ritual soon.

She notices the worry in your face and grants you a tired smile to reassure you everything is okay that you immediately reply with one of your own. Wry buckteeth and all.

“I was looking for you.” You hum and turn around to hug her midsection and press your face against her dirty, purple knitted dress. “I'm tired...”  
She lifts her arms rubs your back carefully and you tense against her. It's not nice but it's the most natural feeling in the world to you even though it doesn't feel right, even though it's a little uncomfortable, it is some kind of affection and you crave it. It's all you know...  
“Liv...?” Her hands wander up further and she cups your face pulling it up to look at you. She's upset because she can see you've been crying and as soothing as she wants to be when she tries to push your bangs out of your eyes and behind your ears, it doesn't help. You know that in a few days she'll probably be gone.

You wish she had a voice. You wish she could answer you. You wish she wouldn't look at you like that. So lost and worried and resigning herself to her fate. Your thin little fingers fist in the woolen fabric of her clothes and you try hard not to think about being all alone, looking in her good eye makes the lonely feeling only worse so you try to fix your gaze on the eyepatch instead. Yet the brown eye seeks your gaze with soft intensity and you can feel she's doing the thing to you. The thing you did to Dave. The thing she taught you. The brown of her pupil shifts in the flickering blue light of the TV and slowly the bad feeling you're having about this is drained out of you.

When you finally close your eyes she kneels down to rub your noses together in an Eskimo kiss and wrap her arms around your shoulders. You can feel her smile when she kisses your forehead. Liv is all you know. Liv is all you need. You know that. You know that as clearly as you know that you have a peanut allergy and that clowns freak you out and that your stomach feels empty and just as you think so it growls and you wince. You inwardly pray she didn't hear that but of course she did.

She doesn't waste any time and grabs your arm to drag you out of the living room but you struggle and free yourself from her grip.  
“I'm not hungry!” Her brows furrow and she knows you're lying the moment you open your mouth because you don't want to eat 'that' again.  
“I'm not hungry.” You repeat and this time you try to sound a little more stern. For a moment she seems torn between forcing you to eat something and letting you have your will. It's her eternal dilemma. She appears to be eager to keep you happy but at the same time you think that taking care of you, keeping you healthy and alive is her main objective.

It's funny how that is the only thing you know about her yet you love and trust her with your life. You just know Liv wouldn't lie to you and you know she is not the owner of that briefcase. She didn't write the codex, she just follows it. Like you. You have no memory of anything before that day you woke up. Yet there are things that you instinctively know. Things like that Liv won't hurt you and that despite being a stranger to you she is your family and you can depend on her.

She sighs and massages her temples a little before she tries to pick you up from the floor. You duck away and run past her but she's faster than you hoped and before you have time to realize what happened, you are in her vice-like grip and she carries you in front of her while you try to kick yourself free. You're too old for this but she insists on treating you like a toddler. You don't have any idea how old you actually are but for all you know you are too old to be carried around like that!

Within second she flops down on the couch, pulling you with her to sit between her legs before she reaches for the blanket to wrap you up. You've been running around topless ever since Bro woke you up and she rubs your arms to try to warm you up.

“Liv I'm not cold I worked. It's okay.” You huff but you know she won't be impressed by that and, as expected, she just continues her weirdo quest. You wouldn't go as far to say it's annoying. On the contrary, you enjoy it but... It doesn't feel right when she does it.  
“Liv? Aren't you scared? Of what's going to happen?” Slowly you lower your head, eyes trained on the blanket over your knees as you tug it a little tighter around you. You feel her lean in and her forehead presses into your neck as she shakes her head no.  
“Then I'm not scared, either.” You decide and lean back against her. When the girl isn't scared, it would be really childish of you to be. You'll finally perform the ritual on someone. And it's gonna be awesome.

Her hands slow while rubbing your shoulders before they come up your neck and she starts to work her fingertips over your scalp. You giggle but lean into it. It kind of reminds you of what Bro did when you were driving with them and you’ve really come to like it.

“Hehehe.” The grin fighting it's way on your face is inevitable. You're happy like this. You don't need anything more. You'll do all the horrible stuff so why can't you keep Liv by your side? She means so much to you. She feels warm against your back for some mysterious reason, usually she feels a lot colder. It really comfy though. And it makes you realize how tired you are as a yawn stretches your jaw and wow. Yeah. Your eyes almost fall shut automatically as she lies down with you.

You've never slept alone as far as you know. And you don't want to get used to it...

 

“Liv- OW! Help!” In shock you kick her and in extension yourself off the couch with all you have, and roll away, both hands pressed to a place on your shoulder that's aching horribly which seems to be what woke you up. Startled, you look at her for help but she is barely moving.  
“L-liv?” You sit up, the tension in the air is thick and the tiredness quickly is swallowed by an enormous wave of cold fear.

What if she forgot you again? What if she won't remember you this time? It can't be already over... Can it? If she loses it before you can perform the ritual on Bro-

“Liv?” You repeat, your voice a lot shakier now but at least you manage to keep the stutter out of it. Your fingers still press into that spot on your shoulder that hurts like hell and you look away from Liv to try and inspect your shoulder but of course the pain comes from a place you can't see.

When you look back up it looks like she is trying to push herself up in a sitting position and she makes a pained groaning noise that sends an icy shower down you back. You are faster on your feet than any morning in your life so far and try to help her up. You reach out your hand for her to get a hold on but nothing happens and for a moment you're not sure if maybe it's her low bloodpressure again when-

She is faster than you expected her to be. A hand shoots into your neck getting a grip on you that will surely bruise and you yelp as you are pulled into her chest. You want to complain but in the next moment blunt teeth already bury into your neck and you cry out! You hit her, scratch her, try to wrestle your way out of her grip, but it's no use! Somehow you manage to shove a hand under her chin and push- PUSH! PUSH! The moment she disconnects from you, the dull stabbing pain becomes a bright burning one and you attempt to run but she still has one hand on your arm and one in your neck and before you can even start to really fight yourself free, she dives in again for your shoulder this time.

You scream for your life. That's it. You messed up. You'll die. You didn't make it in time. She will kill you. _She will eat you!_ You thrash about, push your hands into her face and try to pull the skin off in the places you sewed it back on- there! You rip it down and you can barely feel the sensation of slimy bits in your hand over the hot pain flooding your system but she doesn't react at all! Why- wh-?!? You push a finger into her eye and are suddenly dropped on the floor as she wails and pushes a hand on what from now on will be an empty eye socket.

You can't move though. You know you should scramble away crawl for your life but the shock rendered you immobile and so you watch helplessly as her hands slowly fall from her face and her good brown eye still intact seeks your blue ones. The mess dripping down her face normally wouldn't scare you but- This is Liv! It's different when you do it to someone you love!  
She looks at you as if she just woke up like that- it seems to hurt but not enough to stop her from giving you a confused little smile and approach you. There is blood on her lips and chin and walks she up to you opening her arms as if to greet you good morning like usual and you do your best to get away from her. You try to push yourself up but your shoulder aches so much you fall onto your face. The breathy words from her direction sound a little upset to you and she is quick to kneel down by your side and her hand-

“Don't touch me!” You bellow as best as you can as you struggle to get back on your feet and stumble until you can press yourself against the next best wall. She looks so damn bewildered as she tries to convey to you that she really doesn't know what happened to you. You don't care though. You are just... really terrified.

“Go away!” She doesn't move and it seems hearing that from you hurts her more than that disgusting looking eye socket of hers. Why doesn't she feel that? You feel the urge to just cry and let the tears run crep from yout stomach into your throat but you're not a child and you know she will try to comfort you if you give in to it and you can't risk that.  
“I don't want to see you! Just go!” You growl and try to make it look more like you're angry and less like you're scared shitless and this time she nods and leaves the living room.

You wait until you hear the front door before you start to move again and take a look at those bites. They’re bleeding and the one on your shoulder that you can see without a mirror has some noticeable tears around it that are already turning kind of blueish.  
You're shaking violently. The realization that with this the only thing good in your life starts to slip away from you hits you with more impact than you thought it would. Now you can’t trust anyone. Your chances to survive just went down 50% you guess. You know you promised Liv you’d help her when she goes but you don't want that. Yet... You don't want to sleep in the same house with her anymore either...

You rub both unsteady hands through your hair a few times before you frantically start to search for something still wearable to put on. It's getting hot during the day but you really can't run around half naked like this. You need to get ready. You need to prepare yourself. You don't have any time left to explain things properly anymore.

You have to kill them NOW.

You open the door to the basement and close it behind you. This time you use the lock. Just to be sure. You're not sure how to face bro after what you did to Dave yesterday though. You tell yourself that he doesn't have to like you, he just has to agree but it hurts nonetheless.  
When he comes into your sight, you see the sack pulled over his head and are kind of thankful you don't have to face his hateful gaze right away. This way you can prepare yourself better. You need to act in a way appropriate for what you are. He needs to realize that you are in charge.

And in charge you are. You do what you want. You- You do-

You snivel and wipe the way oversized T-shirt over your face to get rid of any tears. You are not a child. You are too old to cry. Crying is for babies! You're not a baby. You are John Egbert. You are special. And you won't die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yes, what do you think will happen now? Haha. I hope you are confused now because that is my intention and I am looking very much forward to your reaction when finally we find out how it could even come so far. Seriously the only thing that kept me going while writing this long ass chapter was the thought of my readers reaction to it and I'd glad if you shared that with me in the comments! I am so eager to talk about this! I guess the more reactions I get the more motivated I'll be to finish the next chapter soon, I already started but... Yeah actually I am sitting on some hot irons here waiting for you to tell me what you think! Haha xD
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for coming this far! I wouldn't have thought you would stay interested for so long and I just wanna hug you all!


	6. This is fear.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bro realizes a few tings. One of these things is that his own death doesn't have to be in vain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, dear readers! Actually, this was supposed to be a Halloween update. UN fortunately I only finished writing it one day before and on Halloween itself my treasured beta was busy. So I decided that if it's not on halloween they can take their time proofreading. It won't make much of a difference anymore.  
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter and the suffering you signed up for!
> 
> "Down, down, down the road~ down the road to hell. Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily... Life is but a dream."
> 
> Big thanks to my dear beta, CaliginousCandy, without you I'd be lost, and so would be this fic. Expect the next one before X-mas!

_For those people that don't understand just how hungry and desperate this boy is. John is fucked up. And it's not just in his head. This is not just for fun. For him it's a life and death matter, too. And he is only just a child._

(You can find the **charasheet for this AU** on my artblog **http://gnacat-draws-stuff.tumblr.com/post/100595707295/another-charasheet-for-one-of-my-fanfictions-d#notes** !!!) 

 

*:*:*:*

 

“Bro.” The kid snuffles coldly and you pick up the sound of his naked feet on the concrete as he approaches you quickly.  
“Come on, wake up!” A small hand slaps hard against your ear and the pain shooting through your eardrum is remarkable. Your head starts to spin a little. It's not surprising anymore that the kid knows his shit about effective ways of attacking but you still don't expect it. You sit up a little straighter, wincing at the pain that shoots through your whole body.

You've been awake for what seems like hours; there was really no need for him to do that. And even if you weren't, that shrill scream coming from upstairs a while ago would have woken you up anyway. For a minute there you thought they started to torture Dave again before you realized who the voice actually belonged to. For a moment you entertained the thought of Dave freeing himself and putting something long and sharp through the detested kid's stomach.

John sighs and from what you can hear he struggles with his words for a moment before he takes a deep breath, clicks his tongue, and plucks up the courage to continue.  
“Believe me when I say I'm sorry that everything will go like it will go for you, but the plan changed so I have to speed things up a little. What I'm trying to say is: You're dying today. Or rather: I'm going to kill you.” Your breath stops. What? Like... now? Again, the kid doesn't sound too sorry and you suck in a deep shaky breath through your nose. What little saliva you have left in your mouth is so fucking thick and repellent that you can hardly swallow it and doesn't help your painfully dry throat. In the flash of a second nearly half a thousand gruesome ways to die flash through your mind, as well as the image of your mutilated little brother.  
“... You're not gonna say anything to that?” He seems a little confused and you tiredly mumble something against the duct tape. You're really not in the shape to get some sass going on. Neither in tone or in posture.

“Oh... Okay, so... the tape is... back on?” Timid hands tug on the bag over your head, lifting it lightly. He's more wary than you thought he'd be after the shit he pulled and that blunt statement he just made, but you can't find it in you to be irritated about it.  
“Good, okay. Then stand up.” John steps away from you and you struggle to get on your feet but your legs just won't support you. You can barely feel them except for a sour ache deep in the muscle and stinging in your joints. The deep wet chafing on your arms burns like hellfire. You'd be surprised if there was any skin left there. Kneeling for so many hours, maybe even a few days, on hard concrete, tied against a support beam unable to control the weight you put on your joints probably isn't very good for the human body. Or any body.

“Stand. Up!” the kid commands a little harsher and you take a deep breath before you give yourself another push. Your legs shake harder than you thought was possible and you groan in pain as you struggle but with the third attempt you finally manage. It takes up more energy then you thought it would. You're already out of breath.

Again, you are surrounded by silence and subconsciously perk your ears. Your brain tells you the lil' sprout of Satan should be still right in front of you but the next noise you hear comes from the direction of the pegboard. Oh hell, please he can't be … Fuck. 

You try not to think about what will happen now, but that's easier said than done. What's it gonna be? A screwdriver through the ear? He wouldn't have let you stand up for that. God. Where the fuck is he even coming from?? You want to at least see it coming! Heaven above please- anything! What the heck did you do to deserve this bullshit? You know you're not a saint but you never- this can't be karma! You don't deserve this, you don't. You don't-!

“Bro? Try to think of something nice, okay? I'll make it real quick. Heh, promise.” No- No he can't-

WHACK!

“UURRRGH!” you shout against the tape the moment something hits the back of your knee fast and hard. You start sobbing as you collapse back to the ground. You really don't have the energy left do anything else.  
“Get up.” he nearly hisses at you again and you shake your head not able to stop the pitiful noises from escaping.  
“Do you want me to go and look after Dave then?” the annoyance in the kids voice is clear and sharp. It sends cold fear up down your spine. Immediately you struggle to get on your feet again but it's useless. You can barely fucking breath with your head in that bag and your mouth taped and the shocks of pain make your body collapse instantly every time you even attempt to tense your muscles. You actually thought you were rather okay as long as you didn't move since your limbs are practically numb, but now that you do, it is nearly unbearable and and you lose all orientation.

“GET UP!” he shrieks and his tool hits your tied lower arms behind your back. The rope does nothing to dampen the force and you think you feel your bones split upon impact. You let out a pathetic series of muffled cries. The kid prods his tool against the forming bruise and repeats the process, urging you to keep trying to get back on your feet, occasionally throwing in the threat of going back upstairs to Dave, making sure you can't help but keep trying the impossible. You know it's psychological torture and that he's toying with you but that doesn't make it any less effective.

Something has changed drastically. The boys behavior made a 140° turn after you taunted him. What the hell were you thinking?? You are so fucking conceited. Now he decided he has no need for you anymore. He is sure he can get what he wants and he'll do what he thinks needs to do. There is no doubt anymore. No remorse.

You wish you'd have held your tongue back then, you wish you wouldn't have let yourself be guided by your hurt pride! But the only thing that's important now is that you realize that John is not courting you anymore. He doesn't seem to want you to like him anymore doesn't even _try_ it the nice way and jumps straight to violence. That doesn't give you any hope for a quick death. Oh god... you're gonna throw up. You can feel your stomach revolt at the thought and-

You start to gag and cough, bending forward as far as you can and fight for air. The hot thick fluid burns it's way up your throat and since it can't find a way out of your mouth hit squirts up your nose. Fuck, oh fuck you're gonna suffocate on bile, digest your own lung- You start to trash uncontrollably as you breath in the first bit of stomach acid and barely register John yelling at you but you can't for the life of you figure out what he says; you have other problems right now!

Within seconds the tape comes off and you spit and hurl up nearly dry. Whatever little fluid you were able to bring forth soaks into the bag over your head as well as into your shirt and makes them stick to your skin. The smell almost makes you want to go again. This can't be it. It can't be over already. Impossible! You're not ready! How could you ever be?!

“Please...” You rasp out and it feels and sounds like your vocal chords have gotten fairly intimate with a grater.  
“Don't- D-dave is-... is he-” you breath in a few more droplets of bile and start to cough again.

The sack is still secure over your head and all you can see is black fabric and faint hints of the still flickering light falling through the weaving only interrupted by the shadow of the kid standing next to you. You'd say John still stands to your right but at the moment you don't trust your senses too much. Everything is bleary and vague, how could you depend on that? You don't even trust your voice but that's the least of your worries right now.

“P-please- please.” you sob wretchedly and and promptly get slapped across the face again. It's not too painful, merely stings, but the way it moves your knees on the concrete and the rope on your arms makes up for it more than enough. It's shocking for you anyway since you can neither see it coming or have the mind to concentrate on anything besides the horrible realization that there really is no escape.  
“Calm down. It's going to be alright soon. You'll see. If you play along nicely, nothing will happen to Dave anymore. Just be good and die for me.” He presses the flat of his hand carefully on your head and rests it there for a while before he starts rubbing.  
“ … die huff… I … I- I'll die.” You repeat, defeated by the absurdity of it all. That can't be it. No. No no no. If you just- your thought gets interrupted when John starts to giggle.  
“Oops. I forgot you can't see! I just nodded.”  
“So i-it's either m mhm huff... me or... hng, Dave.” You swallow hard, wincing at the feeling and the stutter.  
“No, it's either you or both. You'll die no matter what; that's not up for debate.” he sounds resolute and the small hand on your head trails down your cheek over sticky fabric, down your neck and comes to rest on your shoulder, squeezing it to an erratic beat. Something in your chest pulls together so tight you can barely suck any air back into your lungs.  
“That's definitely the end for you, Bro.” John whispers and his voice moves like thick black oil through your ears, coiling up in your brain, and you feel your stomach fighting the extra weight of these words as the stone of truth is dropped into it. Your mouth is so dry you can't even spit the horrible taste of vomit out of it. You'd cry if you weren't so dehydrated. Like a motherfucking baby. Back to roots.

There comes a noisy clanking of metal from the direction of the pegboard followed by an exhausted sigh. You didn't even realize the kid had let go of your shoulder let alone left your side. You're still occasionally coughing and wheezing and your pulse hammers in your ears. Seems like you can't trust that sense either.

“I don't like it either, you know?” John groans and he seems a little exasperated. “I wanted to keep you both here a lot longer so we could get to know each other and to give you time to understand and accept what's coming at you. The original plan calls for several months and I already narrowed that down to one... Maybe 2 weeks. If I'm lucky! And now I only have the rest of the day. This sucks for me, too! But I guess it can't always go my way.” He lets out a long breath and for a moment there is no sound but that of your own panting and the drumming in your ears.

Truth be told, you barely register anything going on around you anymore. Your heart is trying to burst out of your chest and your mind is running tight circles. Your body is being flooded with adrenaline, enough to start and deaden most of the pain that would otherwise knock you out in a bit. You're completely going into fight or flight mode despite neither being a viable option. You can't fight, you can't run, you can't bargain. Not for the first time since you found yourself in this basement do you wish lil Cal was here. Not that it would do you any good, you just want him here. For emotional support. This damn perfect little piece of plush relaxation.

“Gi- give-” God, your throat is so dry. “Give me a huff, g g-guarantee. Ho- k how can I- kch!” You gag again but swallow the urge down as best as you can and try to clear your throat. “How c-can I be sure... huff, you'll spare h'm?” Fuck, you have to swallow way too often mid-sentence. You barely understand yourself with all that heavy breathing and stuttering, and again you are met by silence. If at least you could see his face to reassure yourself. Read his body language. He blinded you in more than one way. This helplessness is driving you crazy! You didn't feel like this before.

“You can't.” John finally answers and you know that's probably the most honest answer he has given you so far. “You will have to trust me on this, I guess.” He says rather noncommittal and you can't stop the audible sneer escaping you. It's a conditioned reflex, destined to come forth whenever you hear bullshit and you instantly regret letting this little gush of air past your split, dry lips.

The kid is by your side faster than you can process but you tense, expecting to be hit on the shoulder by something, or for the flat of his palm to connect with the side of your head, or worse. You're about to scream with the ghost of foreshadowed agony flinching through you but nothing happens. Your face twists up with momentary relief, and let out the breath you didn't notice you were holding.

“See, you're already doing it all wrong.” The disappointment is hard to miss. “I need you to do exactly what I want, and the less I have to explain, the better, so try to follow and think for yourself a little. Otherwise everything will be for naught. All my effort and all the people that died for me to live. All for nothing.”  
“What... what the ffff- huff, fff-fffuck are ya t-talkin'bout.” You puff and the frustrated little grunt coming from the kid already indicates he'll lose his patience with you if you can't focus and play along at least a little.  
“I'm saying that everything goes to shit! This is definitely not how I wanted things to happen! If I help you too much to figure things out all at once the whole plan collapses in on itself! I told you that I actually need more time and all that, and it's all really complicated, and dumb, and on top of that I'm not even sure I can do it properly to begin with because I don't have enough people here, or if that would make any difference even if I had all I needed! And if you turn out to be useless, I'll have lost even more time! Time that Dave won't have when I need to use him instead!”  
“Use...” he's talking about killing you, but you don't quite understand why he changed the term for it all of a sudden.  
“Yes, use! Do you think I am doing this for fun? There are rules I have to stick to, duh! And you're not making it any easier for me. If you did, this would all be a lot nicer for both of us.” He clicks his tongue and slaps you again, however there is no force behind it.  
“Then why...?” It's barely more than a breath but he seems to get it anyway. Fuck. You're so tired.  
“Duh!” A fist comes down on your head repeatedly and you wince. “What the fuck did I just say?? I can't help you! Not much at least! When you don't come to realize these things by yourself, the chance that everything blows up in my face only gets higher! And since we don't have time you need to realize it faster than you can or I- Argh! You- are... So- !!! _Frustrating_!” He hits you in the head again and after the two of you hiss from the feeling, you notice he's closer to you, blocking most of your light out. It feels rather out of the blue when he headbutts you almost playfully. You're leaning forehead to forehead and he carefully cups your face, running his thumbs over your cheekbones and the puke-slicked fabric.

You are not sure what to make of all this. So you are here because the kid, not anyone else but this little boy, kills people with his own bony, cold, little hands to use them for... _Something_. And apparently it is a rather difficult procedure but only has to work once yet it hasn't so far. And... and what- Shit! You need to concentrate, but all your head seems to be set on doing is spinning.

So it doesn't work if you can't understand what he wants, and if you can make it work he doesn't need Dave, but chances are he's going to kill him anyway to get rid of any evidence since the kid isn't all that stupid, but it's the best shot you have. Right? So... you'll have to do and say what he wants without any clues of what that might be and … Oh god, you are so done for. You mentally apologize to Dave when you realize that the chances of you saving his smart ass are so low that even ants couldn't dance limbo underneath 'em, so slim that even in her worst days Lindsay Lohan would feel terribly overweight next to them.

But what more can you do, other than try? You'll just have to fight your own reflexes and needs and roll with it. Apparently you will die no matter what you do or say or how you act. Nothing will save you. Right? You can barely move your own head anymore. You're so damn tired.

“Okay...” You mumble and John's grip on your face gets a little tighter. “B-Bring- bring it on t-then.” You can do this. You will do this. You will not freak out. You can and you will do this. It's going to be alright. You'd have died one day anyway. Haha, it's okay. It's all you can do. It's okay. It's okay it's okay it's okay.

You can feel the boy nod against your forehead and he rubs your noses together, uncomfortably scratching the fabric of the bag over your rather raw skin. All of a sudden the kid is weirdly affectionate and touchy-feely amidst all the slapping and you can't fathom why even though it has a weirdly calming quality when you think about how this might be the last thing you'll ever feel. You can't help but hope that whatever your death involves has nothing to do with anything that Dave went through, but your hopes for that ain't exactly high either.

“B-but I wa-wanna see... huff see Dave first.” The boy tenses up noticeably and his hands fall to your shoulders.  
“...”  
“I have- have- have t-to see 'f he is... huff st-still alive. I hh I-, I-I'll do what- huff.” You clear your throat and try to ignore the scratch urging you to cough again. You need to make it clear to him. You won't budge on this one. He told you he needs you to cooperate. You hope that's worth enough to him to let you see Dave one last time. It has to.

“I'll do wh- hh, wh- whatcha want... Whate- va ya want, a- _after_ I've s- ssseen Dave.” You can feel John staring you down. You're not sure if he really gets the concept of a sack over the head or whether he just glares and nods and rolls his eyes at you anyway.  
“That's impossible.”  
“Th's a lie... a-and we bof know iph.” God, you're starting to slur. You squeeze your eyes shut and bite the inside of your cheek in order to get you back in reign but the dizzyness only seems to get worse. You hope there is no internal bleeding. If you get any less coherent...  
“I can't carry him, asshole! He can't walk, and I can't carry him! Especially not down the stairs! And I will not untie you! So _duh_ , no! Not gonna happen!” The anger in John's voice is unmistakeable now and you can hear him stomp a foot for emphasis. “I'm giving you his life, Bro! Isn't that plenty already! You're really ungrateful!”

Dave can't move. Dave can't move on his own. Not that you didn't guess as much, just- It's different to have it affirmed. Fleeting images of your nightmares return and you shudder. Dave hanging from the ceiling. Dave tied to a chair. Dave drowning in his own blood. You have to face the facts here. It is very possible that the boy can't bring him down here because Dave is already... Dead.

“... Well, shit.” You breath a quick laugh. “B-because... I'll s-sti-stick w-with it. Huff. At's... Th-that z hng, my con- condition. I I want, to s ssee... want t- t- to haf proo- oof, huff, heez alive a-a-and that that that- hng huff, that he c-can go when... when...” Oh god. You cough and sob before you let your head hang low again, letting out a choked howl like some kind of wounded animal. There has to be a way out. There has to be! Out. You need to get out! 

John is quiet for a few minutes while you continue to pant and whimper. If you had to guess, he actually thinks about accommodating to your demands. Slowly, it sinks in that as things are looking, he really, _really_ needs you to work _with_ him to get what he wants. That's probably why he planned in more time to work with you. To emotionally bind you to him, for you to develop Stockholm Syndrome. That would make you so much easier to control, even for a child!

Look at you. Ha, hahaha. So smart, even at the brink of consciousness. Without a doubt he won't hesitate to just immediately kill you should you fuck around with him or do _anything_ , whatever that could be, that disqualifies you as a useful object. And somewhere in the back of your head this little voice tells you to do just that. To fuck up majorly and secure yourself a quick death because the kid doesn't want to waste time. But you can't leave Dave hanging. If you mess up, he'll just move on to Dave, and if there is a just small chance, even just a microscopic one, that you'll get him out of here, you'll take it. 

“What- huff whth ab-b- bout that- hn, ww-womnn?” You murmur and hear the kid turning on his heel; he is probably glaring at you again.  
“You've seen her...?”  
“Sh' pt th' sck huff, ov my hh-, h-, hea- head.”  
“...”  
“Ma-mak hhr h-help yyya. Or- Or sm- somone es... el e. Huff, Els.” Oh god, you can't. No more. You're starting to lose control. Can't he just give in? Talking uses up so much energy. You're gonna pass out. You're gonna pass out.  
“No.”  
“Ww- well... Yya wiw hve t, huff t' fff- fnn- fnd _som_... way.”  
“Oh, do I?” Little shit is sassing you. How can he even still understand you? You wish you had the power and freedom to sass back appropriately.  
“'Ff ya w-, ww-, w-, wn t' gg-, g-, get, huff, g-get som uo- hnng one t p-pl-, p-lay...” Fuck long sentences and your incapability to take deep breaths without overexerting your poor burning lungs. “-y, yyyer game, huff, y- ya shhhd ma-mak sh- sure th st-, stt-, st-, hng huff, th st stt sstake 's n a-allu- allrng lurng n alrr... huff a gg-ood b-bait.” Holy shit. Words. Someone take pity on you already! No more. Oh god. Oh god, please. Just... Your breath is getting faster and faster as the panic worsens. Oh, fuck.  
“I'll give you his life! I think that's plenty alluring! Even if you won't have much of it where _you_ go!”  
“... But... hh, huff, hhh-, hh-, how d-do-do I know... huff, hez al- al- allli-hiv?”  
“ He- ...” He pauses and you swallow. Hard. 

You really hope he is still alive. Please let him be alive. John starts to make a series of annoyed and exhausted noises as he starts to pace around you and your support beam. Good. Let him think. It will buy you and Dave some time; Dave to rest and you to think of something else. You're not sure of what but you know there has to be _something_ you're not seeing yet.

“I don't know how.”  
“Huh...?”  
“I don't know how to get Dave down here. The cable was meant for people that can walk by themselves. Dave got injured during the accident and I thought I'd have enough time to let him recover. I hoped I had enough time. And I can't carry him. He can barely make any noise either so calling out for you is out of the question, too. I don't know how to prove that he is still alive. Sorry.”  
“Hah, s-ss-szzsz-szorry _mmmmhy azz_ k-k-k-d. TH- th' wom-wom-, mmman-n-n, huff, cnn ccarrrr-”  
“Fat chance!”  
“Yyy-ya hv-” You get slapped in the face with something he was holding; you're not sure what with.  
“I said I can't! What's up with you?? I thought I already told you I can't I can't I can't! Dave is supposed to be the one that can't think right, not you!” You want to ask him why, but get promptly hit on the ear again with his free hand. Hard. Your head is ringing and you let out a strangled groan. However, even if he didn't do that you're not sure you could have vocalized that question anyway.  
“I www- wo-wohoo w- wnt, won't... huff, dd-do an'thin' bfor I-I-I hav hv, huff, hvn't z szzseen Day-d-dvv- Dav.” You pant stubbornly. Can't he just give in already? You're so god damn tired. You don't think you ever wanted to just cry yourself to sleep that badly.  
“Well, I can't think of something else.”  
“ _Y' hh- hve t_.” He slaps you again and when you don't react enough to it, he decides you can't give up to his heart's content and kicks you in the knee for good measure. It sends you flinching and hissing.

“What part of _"I can not do this!”_ is so hard to understand for you?! You realize that I can't carry him, don't you? I'm not lying, I think it's pretty obvious that both of you kind of double me in height and quintuple me in weight or so! So what do you expect me to do now?”  
“Th' wo-wommn.”  
“I can't.”  
“Why?”  
“I can't!”  
“Why?”  
“Because: Shut up!”  
“Why?”  
“SHUT UP!!” His voice cracks in the middle of his high pitched scream and he is clearly very agitated. You might have just messed up. 

 

You don't have the breath to continue asking anyway; all you can do now is let yourself fall the rest of the way forward and whine at the uncomfortable pull on your shoulders that the additional weight puts on them, the grating your raw knees on the concrete floor and the bloody chafing on your arms that you still bet are rather broken. It's silent. Unexpectedly, it seems that that's actually getting to him and after what must have been a few minutes, it almost bursts out of him.

“I'm scared, okay?! I'm scared of her, you douchebag! I don't want to go up there. Not now.”

You gape at him. You're aware he can't see it but it's not like you can help it either. Is he serious? The signals he's sending are so horribly mixed, you're not sure if striving to understand them is all that advisable to begin with. You slowly come to believe that this is meant to not be understood to begin with.

“Why?” You try cautiously, but he doesn't answer. You can't hear him move through the room either. You know you shouldn't do what you're about to do. You know it makes him angry, however you are too desperate and it slips out of your mouth before you realize it.  
“Jjj- Jhn, y-ya needn hp- hh hlp? Huff, I- I-I-I hhnnng, cn-, cn-, cnnn-n he-, hhh-hlp, y' kn kno? D- Dave n I-” You don't want to die. It's a fucking lie. You can't do anything anymore; can't help him, can't punch him. Fuck, you might collapse any second if you strain yourself any further. You need that energy to think, you can't argue any longer!  
“Shut up...”  
“Dd-ave, p-p-p-p-p-pl-, pp-plzzzz. Pleez... huff, I wwanna z Dave. Huff, I wn-t-” You sob again and this time it is harder to get yourself back under control. This can't be true, this all just can't be true!  
“Crying won't get you anywhere, Bro. Tears haven't helped anyone yet. But cry if it makes you feel better.”  
“Y-yyy-y lft Dve... Huff, p-pp, up th' ss-, th- ther. Huff. A- aln. Al alon. A lone.” you snuffle but it does nothing against your runny nose.  
“Yes.” You can hear the hidden question behind it and, god, if anger wouldn't chew down so much on your oh so scarce reserves.  
“Wth, thhhhh, th-tht, w-, www-womm-, mmn.” You finish and he slowly picks up on what you mean. It's absolutely quiet for a while, before you can hear him jump up the stairs the moment he finally realizes what you now know must have been a _huge_ error on his side. Then he hesitates. You hear him coming back down the stairs a few times until he finally reaches the top. He is so fucking scared of her and she is up there alone with Dave. Dave who can't move. Probably can't even make himself heard anymore. 

“I'll be right back!” He yells back down to you and you listen to him rattling with the lock on the door again before it slowly creaks open. He needs two minutes to make sure it's safe to leave before you pick up that he shuts it again and wonder just what exactly makes him so damn nervous. You remember the woman to look even more abused than the boy if that is even possible. Not as famished. More like victim to direct violence. She made more of a deer in the headlights impression than _scares born sociopaths shitless_. Then again, John looked just as innocent and now see where assumptions based on appearance brought you. If you had one, you'd say you've learned something for the future. Haha, get it? Because the kid's gonna kill you.

Man, you have a great sense of humor. And you need it. You are pretty sure if you start any serious thinking over death and what's after and how the fuck you'll get there that you'd break down so fast and hard you wouldn't recover. You couldn't possibly help Dave. You really don't want to think at all, yet on the other side you have to pay attention, whether you like it or not, and you're glad that you were aware enough of the situation to actually make John leave and look after Dave.

You wonder if he really just looks after Dave or if you angered him and... God, you want this damn bag gone! You have eyes for a reason! Shit. If you can't see the kid's worn out face, his scraggy, non-threatening form, it feels all so much more menacing.

You try to steady your breath a little and, now that the kid isn't occupying your mind anymore and the initial shock wears off, the pain sets back in. Your arms, your legs, your stomach, your head... You wonder. If he decided to loosen your ropes, would you even be able to run? You definetly can't move your arms anymore but maybe- maybe... But probably not. It feels like no amount of adrenaline will get you back on your feet and that was probably the purpose of most of this shit to begin with. As far as you know, neither you or Dave are able to move a muscle at the moment.

But what for? What is the great master plan? What is the _use_ you supposedly have to them, to him? Maybe if you-

Something clatters upstairs. The next moment, it sounds like furniture being thrown over, and you hear some muffled yelling and screaming. You feel relieved because it's not Dave. It's John, and he sounds alarmed and angry. He gets louder with every passing second. Suddenly the basement door shuts with a loud bang. Probably John. You hope it's John, and you think he's fumbling with the lock.

“Go away Liv! Wait outside! Go!” There is loud rattling at the door and heavy pounding that indicates this Liv woman is throwing herself against it from the other side. With each loud thud against the wood the kid lets out a terrified little yelp in between ragged breaths and choked sobs.  
“GO AWAY! GO AWAY! GO AWAY GO AWAY! GO AWAaaaayyyyyy, huff huff, please! Please! Please! We are almost there, ALMOST LIV! PLEASE! A LITTLE LONGER! WAIT OUTSIDE PLEASE! Wait outside.” The screaming trails off into muttering. However, you still hear the door being attacked and you feel the mood infect you. 

What the HELL is going on there? You don't understand jack shit but it feels like if this door opens now nothing good will come of it. Not for John. Not for you. Not for Dave. Are they really threatening each other? Aren't they accomplices? This doesn't make any sense! 

Your hair stands on end as goosebumps work their way over your skin. Shit, for real? Isn't this a little much? A little too unreal? Not just a psychopath, no. The skeletonized junior version. Not just simply murdered, no. Tortured to death for a nonspecific purpose. Not just an accomplice, no. A possibly schizophrenic or extremely choleric and traumatized woman with uncontrolled violent tendencies. Thinking back on the thick scars all over her body, she might be one of John's... victims? Shit, thinking about the little boy having victims feels wrong. But thinking she might have been in your or Dave's position sounds rather logical to you.

You don't know when the loud noise at the door stops but suddenly you realize it's been replaced with hesitant knocking. It takes a while for John to calm down though.  
“Liv...?” It's barely above whisper.  
He gets an answer in the form of two slow knocks and sighs out in relief before you hear the rattling of the lock again. He takes forever to open the door and you imagine his hands are shaking. He's sniffling and desperately trying to regain some composure.  
“About t-time. Now quick, do you think you can concen-” and then the door closes and they are out of earshot.

Maybe that woman is the answer. Maybe if she is a victim, too- Maybe it's Stockholm... If you talked to her and that was the case, you'd only shoot your own leg. On the other hand, she could be the one controlling the kid and John is the one with Stockholm Syndrome. That would equal removing your legs, you guess. Yet, it is possible that both of them are controlled by a third party who is watching you from a safe place right now. As someone who constantly streams shit from all over his own apartment into the world, you know that with a little knowledge and the right equipment you can pretty much- … Oh.

You pant a dry laugh and squeeze your eyes shut. What does it matter? What the hell does it matter now. 

You can't do shit. No matter what the reason is you'll only get both you and Dave killed and you won't let him die here. Not if you can help it. You shouldn't work on your own impossible survival and reduce Dave's already vanishingly low chances any further. You have to. You have to stop dwelling on the thought of surviving this. Get real, Bro. Get fucking real. You can't move! They could untie you and equip you with a katana and you wouldn't be able to use it. You can't even ball a fist behind your back. You can barely talk and not even intelligibly. Everything hurts so badly you just want to pass the fuck out.

Get real. You're as good as dead already. All you have left is that last responsibility to do your best for Dave. And only for Dave. You've sworn to yourself to do the best for your little brothers, no matter what. Whether it's sending Dirk away to live with the Lalondes or sacrificing yourself in exchange for Dave's life doesn't matter. It's all the same. It is. All. The same.

You patiently wait for John's return, trying to keep your thoughts in line and prepare yourself for what must be a horrible death and just do what he wants you to do for as long as you can. And you pray you can. For Dave. You have to. You have to keep reminding yourself of that. Which is not all that hard when you recall Dave's cries of agony. Those endless hours that he endured because you tried to taunt the kid and joke some life into your dwindling confidence.

 

When, finally, the door creaks again, you hear a hoarse pained moan and immediately fight to sit up a little straighter, grunting at your sore protesting body to support you just for this little moment.

“Dave!” You croak out nearly breathless but you don't get any reaction. From what you can hear, he gets dragged down the stairs more than anything and his noises almost make you wish you wouldn't have asked for this. Almost.

“Careful. Careful, his head. Watch your step. Slow down. Slow down, I say!”  
“D-dave!” You try again but your surroundings still fail to react to you. With cold dread, you imagine this really might just be his dead body. You know it doesn't make sense to be careful not to hit his head and you think you heard him moan, but who can blame you for expecting the worst in your situation?  
“Dve!” Your voice breaks.  
“Oh my god, Bro, zip it! I need to concentra-AH!” The sound coming from the concrete stairs reminds your of that of a pile of laundry bags being thrown around paired with a shocked little shriek, and then it's quiet. Too quiet. Or maybe it's not and your pulse is just hammering too loud? Somehow, you have this vivid picture in your head, of all 3 of them falling down the stairs and splitting their heads open leaving you to die of dehydration and hunger. What a picture for the after world that would be.  
“...” As eager as you were to call out for your little brother before, now you can't seem to find your voice.

“Ow. Shit, Liv, are you okay?” You wish that would give you at least one bit of relief. You'd hate to slowly die from dehydration but, in the end, death is death. Like this or like that, death is certain.  
“And Dave?” The boy seems a little worried for a second before he exhales in relief. Strangely, that doesn't ease the tight feeling in your chest either. You keep your head turned in their general direction.  
“Bro, Dave is fine, so you better keep your promise.” The kid states sternly and you can't answer anything but a breathy little “...yes...” as you hang your head low again. It feels like you're out of energy again. Thinking straight gets a little harder. You wish you'd have payed better attention in biology classes because, from a scientific point of view, the things going down in your body right now are probably rather interesting. On the other hand, you doubt you'd have learned anything useful that would possibly apply to these kinds of life and death situations. You wonder if this is what a frog feels like before you cut him up for science.

“Can you do the rest on your own? Are you sure? … Okay, I'll go get some of the other things while I'm at it. Remember to concentrate on the task. No stray thoughts, Liv!” The kid disappears up the stairs again. You wonder what else he could need. A few minutes ago, he didn't even want to go upstairs and now he needs more? More of what? More _for_ what? You don't want to be tortured to death, how many fucking tools does he need to kill you?

You hear the rattling of chains and a chair grating heavily over the concrete floor with a screech. Dave might possibly sit in it already and if you remember correctly the chains as well as the chair are anchored in the wall behind them. 

You wonder if you should use the opportunity to talk to this Liv woman. This could be your ticket out of here just as well as your and Dave's immediate death sentence. And you don't know how much time you have. Should John come back while you try to convince her to help you, that would fuck the plan over, too. And then of course there is still the threat of torture penalty for Dave in the air, you shouldn't forget about that. Yeah, maybe you shouldn't talk if you can barely force a coherent thought from one half of your brain to the other. 

Even if you don't want to die. 

Even if every fiber of your body screams to bet everything on her. This crazy and probably mute woman that scares the little psycho into cowering and whimpering on this side of the door while she banged against it with a force so audible it made you cringe and break into a cold sweat. You ask yourself whether it was her, John, or a third person who did these things to Dave. Or maybe all of the above. Either way you hope for them all to burn alive. 

To rot in hell.

“Dv..?” You try tentatively but there is still no reaction. Maybe you should pray. Like, actually out loud. Not that you think it would help anything but you really want a miracle right now. Even if it's a small one. A tiny one would be enough. Just some little sign, of what, you are not sure but it would be damn nice. 

However, with every minute that passes you feel how childish and hopeless any form of optimism is and your stomach sinks. Each time you swallow you get the feeling your throat is made of paper and rips a bit. You swear, if they don't hurry the fuck up you will crumble to dry sand in front of their eyes like the mummy from the eponymous trilogy. You think it was a trilogy. Was it?

 

“Bro...?” You jump when you feel a cold hand against your temple, and oh, wow that feels nice. John? When did he come back in? Fuck, did you fall asleep? Did you pass out? You're kind of hazy. Feels a little like you're on a ship during a rather large swell. You're almost willing to bet that it's the floor moving and not your head. Could be a fever.  
“Here, come on. You need that if we want to make this work.” A straw presses against your chapped, blood crusted lips and the moment you understand that, you weakly close them around it and suck with all your might. Which currently isn't much but who even cares.  
It's juice again but it tastes like it's thinned down with lots of water and again you couldn't care less, because hell yes, sweet moisture!  
“Sorry, I kind of neglected that a little. But I think if I spoil you too much, you'll start to act up and that would be troublesome.” A hand ruffles over the sack and your hair underneath and you barely realize that enough time has passed for the stomach acid on it to be almost completely dry.  
“I brought Dave here and he already drank something so I'll try to wake him up soon and you can talk for a moment. I'll explain the deal to both of you and then you do your part and die for me. Okay?” You nod vaguely and he pulls the straw away from you. Fuck, you actually whimper, try to chase it with your head but your skull weighs so heavily beneath its fleshy cage. How did your neck ever stem that?  
“You'll die for me, okay?” You nod again and when he still doesn't turn back to tending to your severe dehydration, you notice he is probably waiting for a verbal confirmation.  
“Ys. Yesss...” It's breathy, barely audible, but he seems satisfied enough to quickly shove the straw back against your lips and let you continue to greedily fill your stomach with fluid.

Over the course of the next 30 minutes he comes back to let you drink something every now and then while scurrying over the room and doing whatever the fuck else he does. Preparations you think. It dawns on you that what he is planning to do with you might be more complicated than what you thought it would be and slowly, agonizingly so, a sense of horror starts to build up. 

Sometimes he is sitting on the floor in front of you. Sometimes he is over at the table and you hear papers flit and the familiar sound of blades clinking together and sometimes he stands over at where you think Dave must be. Maybe giving him something to drink, or seeing whether or not he is still breathing, or simply trying to wake him up to see when he can start. 

Your breath hitches and you almost panic when suddenly he halts in front of you and starts to tug on your shirt, getting more and more irritated that with the way you are tied against the pillar. He can't get it off and when he returns you feel the material stretch before it's cut. You really expect him to cut you but the moment he cut the shirt up from the bottom to the collar, he seems satisfied and returns to doing his business.

If suspense could kill.

“Bro?”  
“Hmm.”  
“Are you scared?”  
“... no.” Yes. Yes you are. How couldn't you be? What kind of stupid question is that?  
“That's great.” He sounds honestly appeased.  
“Why?”  
“Shrug.” He says it out loud this time. Slowly getting used to the fact you can't see him doing it. “Maybe because in that car with you, I wasn't scared for one moment. I jumped into cars with a lot of people. So when they work hard to make me feel comfortable and make me relax I kind of feel bad for-”  
“Then don't.”  
“Bro~.” He groans and lets whatever he was holding in his hands drop back on the table.  
“Don't.” There is a slight shaking in your tone that you can't keep out and he approaches you again. You feel the rim of the glass against your lips and quickly lift your head higher to drink without choking.  
“I want to live.” He murmurs and oh, if you don't feel him on that one! Surprise surprise, so do you! Funny how with some fluid back in your system sarcasm gets so much easier. You are aware enough to keep it to yourself though.  
“I eat people.”

You spit and what didn't immediately fly out of your mouth drools down your chin. You... expected a lot but not that. Against your better knowledge, you lift your head to look him in the big blue eyes but all you see is the inside of your bag. He puts the glass on the floor and cups your face before nuzzling your foreheads together. He's letting out a contented sigh. So... So what is he gonna-

“I won't eat you. Don't worry. I have something so much better planned for you. You can really relax because I completely got you.”  
“Gut...”  
“As in _I have you covered_ , idiot. Eye roll.” He giggles and it doesn't serve to calm your nerves in the slightest. You can't possibly imagine that to be a good thing. You're gonna die, aren't you?  
“I saved painkillers for you. Local anesthetics. So guess what. If you're a good boy and do as I say, I guarantee it won't hurt at all.” He almost coos now and, again, shit takes a turn you didn't see coming at all. Just what is wrong with this kid's head? Did his parents drop him from the changing unit? Is it inborn? An error in the Matrix maybe? You can't follow his pattern of thought at all.  
“A g-good boy.” You repeat, dumbfounded, and he nods against your forehead.  
“That's what I told both of you the whole fucking time! Do what I tell you to do and be nice. That's all you have to do.”  
“I... I thought there ww-was some thing-thinkin' involved. Figurin' shit... shit out o-on my own.” Fuck, your throat actually feels better and you just drank something, it still hurts though... And yet...  
“That is filed under 'do what I tell you,' hehehe.” You snort a half laugh and lean into him. He flinches but when you don't say or do anything else, he wraps his arms around your shoulders and carefully hugs you against his bony frame.  
“You're going to be alright. Nothing will hurt and the way I do it, you will just feel like falling asleep. When I'm done with you, you just fall asleep.”  
“Good. Sounds good.” You huff and you realize, if you really have to die, you don't want to die in pain, scared, and frantically fighting for the impossible. As heroic as it might be, and as much as you'd prefer to try and take along whoever wants to send you on this shitty journey to the depths beneath, that's not an option. Fighting is not an option. It would be so much better, so much nicer to just peacefully fall asleep and feel nothing. 

He squeezes you and it tugs on the chafing on your arms and shifts the weight on your knees uncomfortably, causing you to hiss in his ear and he lets go of you.  
“Heh, sorry.” It sounds almost sheepish and that's when you realize that his attitude towards you changed with your attitude towards him. The moment you accepted what was going to happen, he started easing up on you. This whole time since you got here, all you thought about was to escape and to get revenge. The fact that he is genuinely trying to be nice to you now doesn't seem to change his objective, but it suddenly takes a lot of the edge off it. Except.

“Dave. Ya gonn l-let'm go.”  
“That's part of the deal. Yes.”  
“How? Won't th- that-a expose ya?” He lets go of your head and after a second of thought he shuffles back to the table. The feeling of the kid's hug lingers.  
“I'll cover him in blood of people that died here and throw him out somewhere. If he ever tells anyone about this people will think he made it up, either to come off as insane and escape the death penalty, or because he is stupid enough to think anyone would actually believe this, or that he is actually insane and really imagined there to be a little cannibalistic boy that killed his brother and all the other people upstairs in some sort of out of this world ritual that he would probably describe as satanic even though they are not.  
He won't tell anyone about this if he's smart. And I think he is smart. I mean, would you believe this story if your heard someone babbling about it on TV? Wouldn't you think they only try to save their own ass and that they should have come up with something more... realistic? By the way I just winked at you.” He sounds relatively cheery and, holy shit, he actually plans on letting Dave go once he has what he wants? Seriously?

Dave is going to live. Just by you acting a little docile and resigning yourself to this and being his 'good boy,' you can save Dave. And on top of that he will grant you a painless death. This is. This is... This is a way better outcome than you dared to believe in. That's a thousand times better than you and Dave being tortured to death and slash or eaten alive. 

“Deal. Deal, I-I-, I take it.”  
“Are you sure you don't want to wait for Dave to wake up to confirm he is alright before you take it?” John sounds surprised and you hear him slip from the table he sat on.  
“I... yes. But...” Fuck, dry mouth. Okay yes you are still a nervous wreck, but holy shit. Slowly, it really starts to sink in that as long as you do everything right and accept this, accept _him_. It won't hurt. It doesn't have to hurt there won't be any torture for you even though you would kind of deserve it. After all, it is your fault that Dave is in the damn state he is in. No hours of torture for you. The only thing you'll have to fear is death itself. John won't do anything else you'd have to worry about. You just have to be a good boy is all. Just that.  
Fuck, okay shit. You're thankful for the damn black linen now. It won't show the tear stains that easily. The relief rushing over you is just... really overwhelming right now.

“You know, in a way, we kind of all get what we want.” John hums, grin evident in his voice. “Not everything that we want but in a way... you can say we make compromises that benefit us all. Don't you think?” He's almost becoming a little too cheery for the occasion but you just nod in his direction. You are not going to complain. You're so fucking tired.  
“Hey, Bro?”  
“Hmm.”  
“Thank you.” You nod again. The fondness in his voice doesn't mean anything to you, and neither do his thanks. He's going to kill you and you're not directly doing it for him. If it indirectly benefits him, hey congrats kid, but you're dying for Dave. This is your last big act as an older brother. It's nice to have him thank you anyway.  
“Don't sweat it.”  
“Hehehe, you know... I'm starting to think I can make it with you. You're a good guy after all, just like I thought. I really wish I would have met you two earlier. It could have all been so dif-”

 **“DON'T!”**

You almost jump at the intensity of it and John is immediately rushing over to you, picking up the glass from the floor before making a dash in Dave's direction.  
“Dn't fucki-” His voice doubles over and he goes into a hysteric coughing fit. He doesn't stop trying to talk even though you think he might suffocate because of it. You are a little too shocked to react. You completely forget everything around you.

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty. How would you feel about some juice?” You can almost see John press the straw against Dave's lips but he just won't stop coughing.  
“Dave, calm down or you're going to faint. Again.” Again? Dave woke up before you?  
“K-Kck th' buckt!” He wheezes and he has to fight for air. His voice is so thin, you can't imagine how sore his vocal chords must be.  
“Dave, please.”  
“P-pweez! S-sop js' stp! Pwease-” His voice pitches higher with every word before he starts crying and you finally remember that yes, you kind of have a degree in talking. That's kind of your thing.

“Dave, it- it's okay.”  
“Broh? E-he.” He sounds disbelieving before he exhales a long outstretched whine and starts babbling. “B-bro, y-, I-I-, hurz, I-, y-you-, I-I cn't-” His voice breaks and he produces a series of noises that could be just crying but could be a serious attempt to say something as well. You're tempted to join right in and it shows in your voice.  
“Dave, it's all right. It's gonna be all right. Yer g- you're gonna live. Take a deep breath, lil man. Ya made it. Jus' a lil longer, jus' hold out a bit longer. Ya can do it-”  
“No- no peez peez no-”  
“Ya have to. I know ya can. Just a lil longer.” You sniffle and you can already hear the duct tape being ripped off the roll.  
“Noooo... no no no no- oomph!” The sound gets muffled and Dave only responds with a terrified little whimper and more sobbing.

“Bro. We have a deal. And I already said I'm short on time. Dave is alive. I'll keep my promise if you keep yours.”  
“He's in pain. Please, you said you had painkillers and-”  
“Not enough for both of you. He'll make it even like this. He'll pass out in a few minutes anyway. I need you to focus on this. Hey. Hey. Look at me!” He snaps and your head flinches back in his direction. Panicked.  
“Bro, this is not a game. Dave's life depends on you now. Focus! We only have one chance.” Dave makes a choked little noise in the back of his throat. He's probably confused as hell and horrified.

Slowly you realize that by asking John to bring Dave down here, you also told him to let your little brother witness your death. You just hope Dave isn't coherent enough to understand what is going to happen here or that you are doing this for him. That you are exchanging your life for his.

He'd never forgive himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D Well well well. Look how far we've come. So next chapter will be, undeniably, THE RITUAL! I hope you are all as pumped for this as I am! I though long and hard about it and I hope I'll manage to confuse, disgust, surprise, and over all draw you in as slowly questions are answered only to bring up more to replace them. 
> 
> As for this chapter. This is all about irrationality under pressure, stress, and extreme fear. In a way that is not only the case for the Striders but for all of them. I wrote bros and Daves cryin dialoge while speaking it out loud with all the hiccuping, the constant dry throat swallowing, the stuttering, and the slur. If you don't understand whyt they are saying try saying it out loud and give it a slur. Maybe that helps!
> 
>  
> 
> As always, I am super happy over all the support I'm recieving and it keeps me alive! Love to everyone who send me kudos and double love for all you sweeties that took their time to write comments! I am very invested in my comment writers and I print them out to put them in my locker at work to motivate me! 
> 
> If you want to you can give me art requests for this fic on the comments or on my artblog! I'll post it there when I'm done. :3 If you ask questions for NFE on my artblog I'll answer with fitting doodles or let the characters answer the questions! :D As a reward for you taking the time and being brave and ask in the first place!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks a lot for all your comments guys! And the kudos of course! And the clicks! But especially the comments! I love to answer your comments and confuse you even more by half answering questions! Muahahahahahar. ;D


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